The Badlands
by Mockingbard
Summary: (UPDATED w/ CH. 4) Left on her lonesome, Jack has found a dangerous niche as the leader of a suffering people. But as if the government isn't a formidable enough enemy, she must now contend with a few familiar faces in the mix . . . .
1. The Fox of Terra Mala

** The Badlands** by Mina, a.k.a. Mockingbard

DISCLAIMER: Jack, Riddick, et al are not mine. The ones you _ don't_ recognize, however, are. 

RATING: R 

FEEDBACK: Sure. You can reach me at ** mistiblu02@hotmail.com**. 

SUMMARY: Takes place five years after the movie (Jack is 19). Left on her lonesome, Jack has found a dangerous niche as the leader of a suffering people. But as if the government isn't a formidable enough enemy, she must now contend with a few familiar faces in the mix . . . . 

A/N: This story has a short prequel entitled "Starry Night." 

** Chapter 1 - The Fox of Terra Mala**

It had always fascinated her, the sunset. She supposed it was the art of it all -- something about the dying sky erupting with a great, final burst of color before succumbing to the unending darkness of night; the violent clash of violets and oranges; the defiant glare of the sun as it sank beneath the dark trees and dilapidated skyscrapers; the tingle in the air as it settled into the chill of night. It was dramatic, it was poetic. It appealed to her sense of aesthetics. 

Jack nearly laughed. _ 'Sense of aesthetics'? Shit . . . been hanging around Nigel too long._

She shook her head and turned from the window. The man sitting by her desk gave her a curious look. "Boss?" 

"Just thinking, Lucas." Jack grinned crookedly. "Just thinking." 

Lucas nodded somberly, as if that explained everything. He was used to Jack's "moods." He rose from the chair, the worn leather creaking gratefully as his weight lifted. "What do you want me to tell Bendino?" 

"Tell him to fuck off." 

"That's all?" 

"No." With a sharp _ thud_, Jack slammed a black briefcase on the table between them. "Tell him no deal. He knows what I want, and it's not his bosses' money." 

Lucas heaved the briefcase off the desk and nodded at Jack. "Will do, Boss." 

Jack turned back to the window, listening to his heavy footsteps as he made his way out of the room. The door squeaked open, then slammed shut. Jack leaned against the window frame and breathed in the dusty air, the stifling quiet. 

Jack hated the quiet. 

Moments later, she smiled again. She could hear Bendino's loud curses from below, muffled but obviously angry. _ Now that's more like it._ She could just see his flushed, round face as he squared off with Lucas. Then, there were the sounds of a scuffle, of bodies grunting and heaving as fists flew, of even more voices calling out in agitated disarray. Then there was a brief silence followed by a final, high-pitched yell from the rotund lawyer. 

Finally, she heard the vicious slam of the building's front door as Bendino left to report to his superiors, those "bigwig bastards," as Nigel put it. Just another failed attempt to crack the Fox of Terra Mala's indomitable armor. 

Jack grinned slightly before looking outside. The expression faded as she took in the descending night. The trouble with sunsets is that they were, by nature, only brief and futile light shows before darkness fell. And in the darkness, there was _ no_ light, nothing to do but sleep or wait -- with your eyes closed, of course. She would _ not_ look into the night. 

If there's anything Jack hated more than the quiet, it was the night. 

She pushed herself away from the window and drew the yellowed curtains closed, hating herself a little for her weakness. Five years, and she still couldn't put the past behind her. Five years of trying to forget that doomed journey that had turned the course of her young life on its spine. 

She dreamed about it, still, and her dreams made the memories worse. The nights were an eternity, her sheets tying her to her bed and the tortures of her mind as she thrashed against those nightmare creatures over and over. But sometimes she dreamed of the skiff, and those dreams were even more painful in their own way. Because that's where the quiet came in, where she relived the pall of silence that had blanketed her as she realized that the _ real_ monster was in returning to a reality without Riddick. When she realized that the man to whom she had carelessly given her allegiance and trust wouldn't be there to save her anymore. 

Jack suddenly felt a sharp sting in her palms. Looking down, she saw that she had unconsciously balled her hands into such tight fists that her nails had dug into her skin. She frowned in irritation. "That's what you get for being so damn touchy," she muttered. 

"I think 'bitchy as all hell' sounds better on ya," said a voice from behind her. 

Jack smiled before turning. "That mouth on you, Nigel," she said, shaking her head in mock offense. 

The man grinned and waggled his pale eyebrows. "Is that an invitation?" He glanced down at the empty leather chair in front of the desk, took out a handkerchief, and lightly dusted the seat before sinking down on it. Purely for effect; that was Nigel. 

Jack ignored his comment and instead tilted her head, bemusedly taking in his clothes. "Nice coat." 

"Oh, you like it?" Nigel proudly adjusted the lapels of the garish yellow gabardine blazer that hung loosely around his thin shoulders. "That Billy Bendino's got nice taste in clothes." 

_ Billy . . . Billy Bad Ass._ Jack abruptly cursed herself for wandering and forced a snide grin. "You and Lucas didn't make _ too_ much of a mess down there, did you? Old man Tanner has this thing about blood on the floor." 

"Nah, we were good." At the suspicious tilt of her eyebrows, Nigel raised his hands defensively. "Honest! Roughed 'em up just enough to send the message." 

"And what message would that be?" 

"The Fox ain't no sell out." 

Jack stared at him for a long moment before finally leaning heavily against the edge of her desk. Nigel frowned. Jack was usually in a good mood after handing Bendino's ass back to him on a platter. He looked at her critically. Her face was smooth and deceptively still, but there was a shadow across her brown eyes that he'd never noticed before. It stood out on the pale perfection of her face like an open wound. 

"Jack," he said, the lightness gone. 

She looked up and was met by his own concerned eyes. She smiled grimly. "Just thinking, Nigel." 

"Don't give me that." 

"What?" 

His bony hands rested firmly on her shoulders. Bending slightly, he lowered his head so he could look directly at her. "Look at me, would ya? This ain't Lucas here. And I ain't one of your adoring public. You can tell me you're shitting and I won't think any less of ya." 

Jack sighed and closed her eyes. "How much money did he offer this time?" 

Nigel furrowed his brow. "Bendino? You counted it yourself, Jack. Fifty grand. Why?" 

"I bet the hospital could've used some of that." 

She opened her eyes and Nigel saw the storm of uncertainty in them. It wasn't fair to her, he suddenly realized; heroes shouldn't have to think about this -- they shouldn't have to _ doubt._ Every single person on this godforsaken colony wanted her to be their answer to their government's inhumanity; as a result, they expected _ her_ to be inhuman as well, to be as automatic and sure in her righteousness as _ they_ were in their injustice. 

But Jack _ wasn't_ like them; she _ felt_ too much to be like them. 

"Yeah, probably," he finally said. "But it wouldn't have lasted long. The money, I mean." 

"But after all this time . . . it's _ something_ --" 

"Jack," he said firmly, "they have _ millions._ And it's all ours. The people's. Gardeno's been milking us for all we're worth since before you came here. You think that fifty grand coulda fixed things? Girl, it ain't worth spit compared to what he and those bastards've stolen from us. It was _ nothing,_ Jack, ya hear? What _ you_ give us -- _ that's_ something." 

Jack looked up at him for a long, grateful moment before a short laugh finally burst from her. "I take it back," she said. "_ You're_ who's damn touchy around here." 

"An' if you tell anyone, you're gonna get smacked." He gave her a small grin before straightening. "I meant it, though, Jack," he continued, seriously. "Gardeno steppin' down -- that's the only thing that's gonna fix this fucked-up hell hole." 

Jack rolled her neck to the side, trying to quash the building stiffness. "He'd better hurry then. We only got so much fight left." 

Nigel gave her another critical glance. "The people don't know that," he said carefully. "You keep going, and they'll keep following ya. Just remember that." 

She snorted. "Like I could forget." 

There was silence for a few seconds before Nigel coughed and pulled a rolled-up newspaper out of his pocket. "Here. This should make you happy." 

Jack raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Gardeno's gorillas at the paper are predicting a 'Nice, mild day tomorrow. Perfect conditions for spending the day outdoors.'" 

"Perfect _ mining_ conditions, they mean?" Jack said, her mouth curling upwards. 

"Yup." Nigel grinned slyly. "Imagine the bitching session Gardeno'll have when all five thousand of his workers decide to call in sick tomorrow." 

Jack grinned back. 'Good mining days' were rare in Terra Mala, which was usually plagued with severe monsoons when it wasn't suffering from scorching heat. The strike tomorrow couldn't have been timed more perfectly. 

"If we're lucky, he'll get so pissed that he'll fire Bendino." 

"Hey, I like Bendino!" Nigel said in mock protest. "Where else would I get my clothes?" 

Jack rolled her eyes and snatched the paper from him. "Anything about me in here?" 

"The usual. You're bad, the gov wants ya, hell and brimstone to anyone who's hiding ya, and some more shit like that. I think they even upped the reward on ya." 

"You're kidding." Jack skimmed the page until she came to her picture. She gave a low whistle. "Seven hundred thousand creds, huh?" 

"Yup. And that reminds me . . . ." Nigel peered at her over the top of the paper to get her attention. "We're gonna have to bust outta this place soon. Now, I know you'll miss all this charming decor--" he said sarcastically, waving at the dingy surroundings, "--but once Gardeno hears from little Billy, he's gonna have his dogs running after your ass soon. He'll be even more desperate after the strike tomorrow." 

"You got someplace in mind?" 

"Yeah. Tanner's kid's in town for a coupla days. His ship's at Dock 6. We leave before dawn, we can cool our heels there for a while." 

"Nice." Jack nodded approvingly before turning back to the paper. "So, anything else?" 

"Um, yeah. Our esteemed Pres hired some crime advisor to deal with the 'alarming rise of civil disobedience.'" 

"Ooh, a new toy." Jack winked at him. "He shouldn't have--" 

She broke off suddenly. Nigel peered around the newspaper to see what was the matter. She was staring at a picture beside the article he had just quoted. It showed Gardeno's dark profile and a tall, bulky figure standing beside him. 

"Yeah, that's him. Gardeno's new lackey. The shined eyes are a nice touch, but we can take 'im." 

When Jack remained silent, Nigel finally tapped her on the shoulder. "Jack? Hey . . . what is it?" 

He did _ not_ like this look on her face. Her usually carefully composed features were almost unrecognizable; her mouth hung slightly open and her eyes stared unseeingly at the page, haunted and anguished. Unconsciously, Nigel reached out to lightly touch her wrist. Her hands were shaking as they clenched the paper. 

"Jack." Now _ he_ was starting to worry. "Jack, what is it? You recognize him?" 

Jack nodded and took a deep breath, slowly putting down the paper. She turned away from him to face the curtains, trying to penetrate past the thin cloth and into the deep blackness of the night that she could never seem to shake. 

"Riddick."


	2. The Assignment

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer, rating, and summary.

Chapter 2 - The Assignment

Joaquin Gardeno had dark hair, dark eyes, and deep creases on his face that made the shadows falling on it seem even darker. He tried to lighten his countenance by slicking back his hair and smiling a lot, but Riddick wasn't buying it. He's seen hundreds of men just like Gardeno before, and he knew how they worked. All ambition, manipulation, and no small amount of bullshit.

There was no point in hiding it. In fact, Riddick appreciated it a little; it was the predator in him.

That smile though . . . that smile was really beginning to piss the hell out of him.

Gardeno set both his elbows down on his desk and rested his chin on his steepled fingers. "Wine?" he offered.

Riddick just stared at him through his goggles.

Gardeno smiled even wider and poured himself a glass of the rich, red liquid. "No? Well, to be expected, I suppose." He took a sip and looked at Riddick over the rim of the glass. "I've been told you prefer blood, anyway."

"You said you got a job for me."

"Straight to the point. That's good." Gardeno pushed himself from his leather chair, walked over to the window of his office, and pushed the heavy curtain aside, all the while fully aware of Riddick's unreadable gaze. The light from the dying sun painted half of his face a disconcerting orange as he looked down at the quiet colony. Twilight on Terra Mala was a thing to behold. The dirt on the streets, the lean of the buildings -- they all seemed to dance with life during these few blazing moments, transforming the harsh, rocky landscape into a haunting still-life. He ran a possessive gaze over the dusty expanse below him.

"I want you to kill someone for me," he said abruptly.

"Done."

Gardeno turned back to him, smiling still, but with a coldness in his eyes. "You don't even know who it is," he said, almost amused.

Riddick's voice came out in a casual rumble. "Don't have to. I know the type."

"Ah." Gardeno nodded in understanding. "So you think this is just another hatchet job, then? Just another slimy politician hiring you to kill yet another slimy politician?"

"Is there any other kind?"

Gardeno's smile settled into a shark-like smirk to match Riddick's. He took a thoughtful sip of his wine before continuing. "I've heard a great deal about you, Mr. Riddick. Most of them from people who are now dead."

"I'm guessing they weren't very flattering things, then."

Gardeno shook his head slightly. "If I were you, I'd take what they said as a compliment. You're a good killer, Mr. Riddick."

"Just Riddick, and no shit." With the lazy ease of a big cat, Riddick leaned forward in his chair. He'd grown tired of Gardeno's small talk and knowing smiles. "Now unless you got a point to all this--"

"The _point_ . . . Riddick . . . is this." Gardeno abruptly put his wine glass down and stood behind the desk, palms down, leaning toward Riddick. "You are good at what you do. _Very_ good. You're a predator. You hunt _other_ predators. It's a favorable arrangement for you. You simply think to yourself, 'Well, if I were so-and-so, I would do this.' So they do it, and just like that," he snapped his fingers, "they fall into your hands. It's an easy kill for you, because you know how they think -- you 'know the type,' as you say. You _are_ the type.

"But this one -- this one is different, Mr. Riddick." Gardeno continued, his voice lowering with what almost seemed like reverence. "This one is no predator. The people have pledged their souls to this one. Not out of fear, no, but out of _admiration_. This is their leader, their hero. This one--" He stood up tall, stretching his arms out, relishing the drama, "--this one is their _savior_."

Then, as suddenly as lightning, the moment passed and Gardeno was standing before him, arms at his sides, smiling that smile again.

"And I doubt very much that you've ever been a savior."

__

Yeah, you would, wouldn't you? Riddick thought wryly, thinking back to a moment five years into his past. But that was a thought for another time.

His face was as stoic as ever, seemingly unruffled by Gardeno's exuberance, as he leaned back into his chair. "You doubt me so much, they why'd you call me in?"

Gardeno poured himself a fresh glass of wine and gulped a large mouthful down, as if trying to dampen his previous excitement. "Oh, that's where you're wrong. I don't doubt you, not at all. I just wanted you to know what you're up against. As for hiring you . . . well, not only are you good at what you do, you're also the best at it."

"And all your other people? They just incompetent, or don't _they_ know what they're up against?"

"Oh, they try," Gardeno said, waving a hand dismissively. "I just don't think that any of them are quite as motivated as you are."

Riddick raised an eyebrow at him.

"They don't appreciate the hunt enough. Not enough incentive for them."

"And what makes you think I'm different?"

Gardeno chuckled. "I have eyes, Mr. Riddick. And I've also done my homework." He settled himself back into his chair and linked his fingers on his desk, keeping a casual eye on the large man in front of him. "I've seen your track record. Very impressive, but it hasn't helped your reputation any, am I right? I'm sure you've been adequately paid by your previous employers, but how many of them can you trust not to report you to the proper authorities once it suited their purposes? Let's face it, Mr. Riddick, a man of your . . . _fame_ . . . does not easily shake that kind of attention, no matter how many _favors_ they grant."

He paused and raised an eyebrow at Riddick as if expecting a response. When he didn't get one, he just continued. "I'm a powerful man, Mr. Riddick. A word from me, and your records will be wiped clean in all systems. You fix my problem and not only will you be rich, but you'll be free."

Riddick narrowed his eyes at Gardeno from behind his glasses. Something had been pricking at him, growing at the back of his mind until it had taken up full residence. He'd felt it since the beginning of the meeting; hell, he'd felt it since he docked his ship this morning and first set foot on the planet, feeling the sun blaze down on his exposed shoulders and the red dust bite into his skin. It had intensified when he was driven to this building, passing the meager, faceless line of people standing at the side of the streets, their eyes dark, blank, and as dead as the terrain. It was a voiceless warning that something was . . . off.

He felt it now, looking at Gardeno's smiling, shadowed face.

Riddick grinned back, teeth bared in a manner that was anything but amiable. Trouble was brewing, and that never failed to make his day. "Like I said," he rumbled. "Consider it done."

Gardeno's gleaming white teeth cut through the darkness in the office like a blade. "Good choice, Mr. Riddick."

__

We'll see, Riddick thought, that vague feeling setting off signals inside him. He set it aside for now; it was becoming increasingly apparent that he needed a clear head when dealing with Gardeno. "Now about this _savior_ of yours . . . ." he said, tilting his head in a silent demand.

"Ah. Yes." Gardeno reached under his desk, and Riddick heard the sound of a low buzzer. Moments later, the door opened. Riddick turned, coldly scrutinizing the tall figure standing in the doorway. Gardeno raised a hand, indicating the visitor. "Victor Landers. He knows our quarry very well. I'll leave it to him to tell you all about her."

Riddick frowned. "Her?" For some reason, he hadn't counted on this. 

Gardeno grinned. "Yes, your assignment is a she. That won't be a problem, will it?"

__

Will it? "No."

"Good. Because it certainly has been, in the past." Gardeno's voice didn't visibly change, but there was a slight edge to his words that didn't escape Riddick's notice. He looked back at Victor Landers who hadn't moved from the doorway, but who stiffened slightly under the comment. 

"I trust you'll take care of our new acquisition, Victor," Gardeno continued. Without waiting for an answer, he stood and faced Riddick and clapped him on the shoulder, ignoring the hard glare it received. "If you're as good as I hope you are, this mission will end like all your others."

Riddick grinned dangerously. "I wouldn't worry, if I were you."

Gardeno's smile took an a cold edge, and his grip tightened briefly on his shoulder. "You must respect this one, _Riddick_," he said. Then he turned away from them both and moved back to the window, silently signaling the end of their meeting. 

Riddick narrowed his eyes. _This'll be a good one, Dicky boy._ He turned to face the other silent individual in the room.

Victor Landers's pale blue eyes met his unflinchingly. "Follow me," he said, turned and walked out into the corridor.

Riddick stared after him for a moment before he strode out of the room, pausing only briefly to cast a final hard look at the president, whose gaze was still fixed on the deepening sky outside.

*****

They waited for the elevator in silence. Riddick didn't bother hiding his critical scrutiny of the man beside him. Victor Landers was almost as tall as him, and almost as built, with callused hands that have certainly seen more than their fair share of fighting. But there was a seriousness in the set of his face that spoke of more than just physical battles. 

He was quiet, but his silence didn't grate on Riddick's nerves like Gardeno's. It might have to do with the fact that Victor Landers did not strike him as a smiler. 

"So, do we get dental benefits for this?" Riddick said.

Landers spared him a look from the corner of his eye and didn't respond. He punched the button a few more times before grunting in mild irritation. "Stairs," he said curtly and gestured toward a door opposite the elevator. 

Just then, the elevator doors slid open. A short, round man carrying a briefcase and looking distinctly frazzled stepped out. He barely glanced at Riddick before turning his attention to Landers. "Where is he? Is he in his office?" he said hurriedly.

Landers nodded.

The other man sighed and swiped a weary hand over his bald head. "Please, Vic, save my blood pressure and tell me he's in a good mood." 

Landers gave a quick glance toward Riddick before answering. "I don't know. You know how he is." He looked down at the briefcase the man was holding.

The other man followed his gaze and grunted in disgust. "Yeah, I know, fuck me," he said. "What the hell -- I lost my coat, I might as well lose my job, too." He stared up at Riddick as if seeing him for the first time. "You're the new guy," he said, sounding a little surprised.

Riddick's mouth lifted at the corner. "I guess I am." 

The other opened his mouth but Landers cut him off. "Billy," he said, warningly. 

"Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah. Don't get pushy on me, Vic." Shouldering his way past the two men, he scuffled down the long corridor toward Gardeno's office, muttering the entire way.

Landers held the elevator open and Riddick stepped inside. The doors slid shut and the cabin began a slow descent. 

Riddick stared silently at Landers, who shrugged. "William Bendino," he said to the silent question. "Gardeno's right hand man. God knows why."

"Thought _you'd_ be his right hand man," Riddick said, leaning against the other side of the elevator.

Landers paused a bit before replying. "I'm not obedient enough." Riddick cocked his eyebrow at this, but said nothing. "Neither are you, that's why you're working with me," Landers added.

Riddick crossed his arms. "It'd probably help if I knew what exactly we're working _on_."

Landers didn't answer until the elevator jolted to a stop and the doors slid open to reveal a long, gray corridor. Riddick sensed that they were underground, but didn't have time to analyze the fact as Landers led him through the hallway, made a sharp turn, and continued down another long path. 

They walked in silence and stopped before a pair of heavy metal doors that stretched from floor to ceiling. Riddick's ears picked up the quiet whir of a hidden camera as it settled on them. Looking up, he scanned the darkened corners until his keen eyes spotted the camera's blinking red light.

Landers pressed a small button on the wall beside them, and a small square panel of the wall slid aside to reveal a computer screen. 

__

"Access code required," said a mechanical voice. 

Riddick watched as Landers punched in a series of numbers into the computer. 

__

"Access code accepted. Begin retinal scan." 

A thin red beam of light shot out from the screen. Landers looked directly at it, unblinking. 

__

"Processing . . . . Scan complete. Access granted."

The panel slid shut. There was a loud click and the doors slid open with the quiet whisper of metal against metal. Riddick stepped through, barely acknowledging Landers as he stood beside him. 

"Command center," Landers said in explanation. 

"Shit, really?" Riddick said, sarcastic but approving as his gaze swept over the cavernous room, taking in the numerous screens mounted on the walls. Men in combat uniform pored over papers and monitors, barked into comms, and moved from desk to desk in controlled urgency. Several of them looked up at Landers and nodded respectfully at him before returning to their work.

"You'll get to know it and them--" Landers nodded at the busy handful of men around them, "--pretty well during your stay here. There are living quarters off to the side there," he said, nodding to a set of doors at the far end of the room. "I've loaded up your security profile. You have any problems with access down here, come to me and I'll fix it. And if you got any problems with your room, same thing -- you come to me and I'll fix it. None of us usually have any time to complain, though, as you can see."

"Pretty big setup for just a one-person manhunt," Riddick said.

"You'd be surprised," said Landers seriously. "Allen!"

A stocky man gnawing at a cigarette turned from his monitor and looked up at Landers's voice. "Yeah?"

Landers navigated his way past two desks and a small circle of muttering soldiers to stand behind Allen's chair. Riddick leisurely followed, taking in the movement around him and the stunned stares he was receiving. He stood beside Landers who was looking at the monitor over Allen's shoulder. "Anything happen since I left?"

"Ah, lemme see." Allen stubbed out his cigarette on the metal surface of his desk and turned to a stack of papers. "Yeah. Small shit. We had a riot on Sector 9. I sent Jimmy and a few others out on a sandcat to take care of it."

Landers frowned. "Was it organized?"

"Nah. Didn't look like it." Allen shrugged. "Coupla diggers got drunk off their bums and started messing around. Broken bones and fines all over the place. Nothing serious."

"Got any movement?"

Allen brew out a tired breath and jerked his head at the monitor. "Fuck, I wish. Either our little desert bitch took the day off or she's sprouted some roots. I haven't been getting any movement for days now."

Landers shook his head. "Just stick with it. Sector 2 was the last sighting. Get a ship up there to scan the area, maybe that'll help."

Allen grunted and took out another cigarette. "Soon as I find my to-do list, I'll get on it." He flicked open a lighter and nodded at Riddick over the flame. "Who's this?"

"Gardeno hired him to help us out." Landers stood aside to let Allen have an unblocked view of the silent, hulking man behind him. "Mike Allen, this is Richard B. Riddick."

Allen froze in mid-inhalation, the cigarette jutting out from his face, his cheeks hollowed as he stared up at the grinning mercenary. "Shit," he breathed, somehow speaking around the cigarette.

"Likewise," Riddick said, the glare from the monitor reflecting off his goggles and making him look even more ominous than usual.

"The others, you'll meet later. For now . . . ." Landers pulled up a chair and sat down in front of the empty monitor beside Allen. His fingers flashed over the well-worn keyboard for a few seconds, then he pushed the chair away so Riddick can have an unobstructed view of the screen. "Your prey."

Riddick watched as a blurry image appeared on the screen. The monitor whirred and beeped, and the image became sharper, more identifiable as a female face. Riddick narrowed his eyes as the features slowly began to take shape. _The hell . . . ?_

"Fuckin' slow computers," Allen muttered beside him. Abruptly he turned back to Riddick. "So what's that thing you do with intestines?"

Riddick ignored him, his attention fixed on the face that was slowly growing clearer before his eyes. _Ah, hell no. No way am I this fucked._ The image molded itself into a dangerously familiar face. Pale skin, dark wild hair, high, sweeping cheekbones . . . . A separate portrait was assembling itself in his own mind, his memories capturing the face in a vividness that was almost painful. That strange, troubling feeling rose up again, settling in a cold pit in his gut. 

The monitor gave a final beep, and Riddick stared dumbfounded at the face on the screen. The lines of her face were sharper, more mature, and there was an unsettling darkness in her brown eyes that he doesn't remember from before. But there was no mistaking that defiant, daring glare on her face. Riddick clenched his hands; he didn't know if he wanted to smash the screen or laugh. _Jesus, Jack, I thought I told you to leave me the fuck alone._

"That's her," Allen said, nodding at the screen and taking a puff from his cigarette. "It's true what mama said. The pretty ones give you the most trouble."

Landers's face was expressionless as he stared at the screen, the glow from the monitor making his eyes seem even paler. Presently, he cleared his throat. "She's gone by 'Jackie Montgomery' and 'Jacqueline Hunter,' to name a few," he said. "Her closest associates are known to refer to her simply as 'Jack.' The people just call her 'The Fox,' when they talk about her at all. Showed up on Terra Mala about four years ago on a cheap passenger ship. All alone, far as we could tell. She was pretty harmless for a while. 

"A few months after her arrival, she starts causing trouble. At first, they were just some small, organized protests. Vandalism. Low-grade stuff like that. Then she got ambitious. One night, she and a couple of other civilians just decided to blow up one of the mines. Don't know how she pulled that off, but it worked. Completely demolished the place, even all the equipment and surrounding warehouses. Turns out she and the others had snuck past security and planted some homemade explosives all along the caves. They made a good run for a while, but she and the others got caught eventually and were sent to jail."

Landers paused and took a deep breath. Riddick pried his eyes away from the monitor to look at him. "And then?" he said, quietly commanding.

"Prison riot," Allen said. Riddick swiveled his head around and pinned the smaller man with his stare. Allen gulped. "It was just a month into their sentence. We still don't know how it happened, but when we finally got our noses into it, all hell had broken loose. A few of our men were held hostage for three weeks."

He seemed reluctant to meet Landers's eyes, Riddick noticed. "And . . . ." he prompted again.

"And in the end, she and a few others managed to get away," Landers finished tersely. "She's been on the run ever since. We've placed a bounty on her head, but that hasn't helped."

"Why not?"

"Because no one'll turn her in," said Allen. "We know she's got friends. And we know they've been hiding her. Trouble is, she's friends with practically the whole fucking colony."

Riddick turned his attention back to Landers. The man's face was grim, but stamped with a strange expression that Riddick couldn't identify, as he stared at Jack's picture. "How do you even know that she's still _in_ the colony?"

"Because she feels bound to these people," Landers said quietly. "People like you and me can't understand that. _Gardeno_ can't understand that. But whatever her reasons are, they won't let her leave."

"Which suits Gardeno just fine, in a way," Allen said, thoughtfully puffing away at his cigarette. "Because he doesn't want her just gone. He wants her dead." He gave a sideways look to Riddick. "Which is why he brought _you_ along, I guess."

Riddick said nothing, and turned his face back to the monitor. Behind his goggles, his eyes were burning. _Always knew you'd be trouble,_ he silently berated the image. The problem was that he was feeling distinctly proud of this girl whose eyes, even after all she'd evidently been through, held that fire that he couldn't help admiring. The girl on whose death his freedom now depended. 

__

The girl you once **saved**, for fuck's sake! he furiously reminded himself. Jack's face seemed to glare at him from the screen. It really _was_ Jack, the Jack from the planet, the Jack whose dogged adulation of him had annoyed him much less than he would have liked. She's not quite so young, and not nearly as innocent, but it was still her. And yet, there was something about the carefully restrained fierceness in her expression that shook him slightly. Riddick knew, somehow, that this girl did not need his saving. 

He didn't know what to make of that.

Unbidden, Gardeno's smooth voice intruded on his thoughts. _"You fix my problem and not only will you be rich, but you'll be free."_

His frustration getting the better of him, he slammed his fist down on the metal desk, making Landers jump and Allen nearly swallow his cigarette. 

__

Shit.

*****

The office was dark with night when Bendino finally nerved himself enough to enter. His blinked his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, and finally found the president's figure in front of the open window, silhouetted by the moonlight.

Bendino held the briefcase with both hands, hugging it tightly to the front of his body as if it were a shield. "Sir," he said finally, vaguely proud that his voice didn't crack.

Gardeno stayed silent and unmoving. Bendino began to think that he didn't even hear him when the president suddenly spoke without turning. "She didn't take it."

"N-no."

Gardeno turned on his heel to look at the shaking man. His teeth flashed in the darkness as he smiled at him. "You're not afraid to have disappointed me, are you Bendino?"

Bendino forced himself to shake his head. "No, sir."

"Good. Because you didn't."

"But . . . I thought you wanted her--"

"I wanted to see if their unshakable hero was as unshakable as they believed," Gardeno said. "Apparently, she is. Hopefully, though, she had to think about this one."

Gardeno sensed the other man's confusion even in the darkness. "William," he said calmly. "It was just a test. The only thing that would have disappointed me is if she'd _accepted._"

Bendino only nodded, his relief temporarily robbing him of speech. 

"Now," Gardeno continued. "Early tomorrow morning, you will tell Landers her exact location. Tell him to find her and kill her. They won't succeed, of course, but don't tell them _that_. I just want them to try. There is someone else I would like to test."

Bendino nodded again, this time no longer bothering to try to understand.


	3. Fox Hunt

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer, rating, and summary.

Chapter 3 - Fox Hunt

She didn't even notice the steady drumming of her own fingers on the windowsill until Nigel shot her a look over his laptop. Jack shrugged in apology, then abruptly clasped her hands together, hopped to her feet and paced the length of the darkened room instead. Nigel rolled his eyes, chewed on his lip and tried to concentrate on the screen before him, but Jack's movement was too distracting. Glaring, he watched her make the circuit from the door, to the window, to the far corner, and back again.

"Would you stop, _please_," he finally gritted out. 

Jack blew out a tense breath. "Sorry." She perched herself at the edge of the desk and wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trapping her hands before they could resume their fluttering. "I just wanna get out of here."

"I know, and we will. Just _wait_."

She nodded. _Just wait. Simple enough, right? Right. I can do wait._

She resisted the urge to shove the curtain aside and look out the window, and instead focused her eyes on Nigel. He was seated on the desk, eyes glued to the laptop's screen, his face tinged blue from the glow. The screen was the only source of light in the room; best not to give anyone who happened to glance up at their window a reason to think that they were doing anything besides sleeping.

Jack shifted her eyes to the screen itself, inwardly groaning as she saw the white static. "Damn. What the hell is taking so long?"

"Lucas'll contact us when the guy gets here," Nigel said calmly. 

"What time is it?" Not waiting for an answer, Jack glanced down at her chrono. "Fuck . . . it's only four hours till dawn."

"He'll get here," Nigel repeated. "Look, I know you're pretty wired, but just--"

"I know, I know." Jack sighed. "Just wait."

Nigel gave her a small smile before turning back to the screen.

Jack's eyes restlessly wandered the room. Her gaze scaled the bare walls of the apartment, crawled across the ratty carpet, and dove into the shadowed corners. The blackness gave her something else on which to focus her nervous energy. She was just beginning to feel a small measure of calm when her eyes accidentally landed on the newspaper Nigel had shown her earlier. A sudden surge of tension coiled through her chest. _Shit, who the hell am I kidding?_

Riddick. It had been five years since she had last seen him, but it was a rare night when he didn't intrude on her dreams. Sometimes he was her rescuer; more often, he was her deserter. In her head, she'd replayed that final dialogue between them so often that she _felt_ the words rather than heard them. His indifference had hurt more than anything she could remember; she'd rested all her childish hopes on him (_that bastard_), and he'd flung them back into her face. _Just turned around and walked away,_ she thought bitterly.

Turned around and walked away . . . and came back five years later to kill her, apparently. If that picture in the paper was any indication, she'll soon find herself face-to-face with Riddick again -- only this time he'll be trying to finish what those god damned creatures on that planet had tried to start.

Or will he? Try as she might, Jack could not stifle that small part of her that still wanted to deify him, that part that still wanted to believe in her hero. He wouldn't kill her, would he? He could give a rat's ass about anyone else's blood, but _she_ had to mean something to him, at least -- even if he _did_ dump her on New Mecca like so much baggage. Maybe this was all a mistake, that annoying part of her said; maybe he was just coming back to save her again, like he did all those years ago.

__

Or maybe you're dreaming that you're still that fourteen-year-old twit and he's still your big, bad, knight in shining armor. Face it, Jack -- you've changed, he's changed, and none of that shit from before matters now.

Jack clenched her jaw and kept her face carefully turned away from Nigel's sight. She was afraid of what he'd think if he saw the wounded expression in her eyes._ Jesus . . . feeling **betrayed**, now? By some homicidal, shiv-happy convict that ditched you in Bumfuck, Nowhereville? Cripes, get a grip._

She shook her head as if trying to shake the thoughts loose. _First things first,_ she told herself sternly. _Cover your ass and do your damn job. What Riddick does or doesn't do isn't important right now. No distractions, little girl. _

The familiar icy mask settled back on her face. Her lips pressed together in a thin line as she stared unseeingly into the darkness. _And if he **does** come for me,_ Jack thought grimly, _well, let him try. I might just surprise us both._

A sudden beep from the laptop jolted her out of her thoughts. Glancing around at Nigel, Jack saw the triumphant smirk on his face. "We got him," he said. 

She stared at the screen over his shoulder, watching intently as the static slowly solidified into Lucas's familiar face. Nigel snatched up a headset, shoved it down on his head, and hastily positioned the ear and mouthpiece. Jack leaned her face close to his so she could hear their exchange.

"He's on his way," she heard Lucas say.

"'Bout time. Jack was getting twitchy with all this waiting." Nigel grinned when Jack punched him lightly on the arm.

"Sorry 'bout the delay," Lucas said, barely legible over the static. "Lotta soldiers around S-9 'cause of that riot. We had to go slow."

Jack nudged Nigel's shoulder and motioned for him to give her the headset. He nodded, unraveled it from his head, and handed it to her. 

Jack took up his position in front of the laptop. "Lucas?"

"Yeah, Boss."

"How's the view from there?"

"Pretty good. I can see Nigel's skinny white ass from here." 

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Nigel edged over to the window and stuck his hand through the small part between the curtains. "Can ya see this, ya little punk?" he said, flipping the finger at the building across the street.

"Love you too, man." 

Shaking her head, Jack wheeled the chair over beside Nigel so she could peek through the curtains. Through the shadows and meager moonlight, she could see the massive, abandoned brownstone just across their building. Dozens of dark windows glared back at her like dead, unblinking eyes. From his station behind one of them, Lucas would have a clear view of their own building.

She nodded in satisfaction and turned back to the laptop. "The radar block," she said. "Is it still up?"

She saw his nod through the remaining static on the screen. "Should be. The tracking chip's somewhere in the old Daley warehouse in S-2. If they're getting any signals from it, they should think that's where you are. The signals are weakening, though -- don't know how long it'll last."

"Long enough for Tanner's kid to drive us outta here and into his ship, though, right?"

"It'll be tight, but yeah. He's driving up right now. You're gonna have to take the south road to keep out of sight, but still. Shouldn't take more than thirty minutes to get to his ship, if _you_ drive."

Nigel pursed his lips. "Even if you don't, most of their attention is either on Sector 9 or 2. Roads should be clear for us." 

"Maybe." Jack said, her eyebrows drawn in a small frown. "But when was the last time anything was that easy around here?"

Nigel looked at her for a second before letting out a low chuckle. "Do us all a favor, Jack, and never become a motivational speaker." 

"Oh, bite me."

"I see lights," Lucas said abruptly. His face disappeared from the screen as he bent toward his window to look through his scope, which was discreetly pointed at their building. Jack quickly turned the laptop away from their own window as Nigel flattened himself against the wall, his hand wandering over to the gun holstered securely at his hip.

Jack tensed as the she heard the faint, low rumble of an approaching sandcat. She met Nigel's questioning eyes and saw his hand draw nearer to his gun. "Not yet," she mouthed. He took a deep breath and nodded. Jack held her own breath as she heard the vehicle stop on the street far beneath their window, at the apartment building's front door.

She brought the mouthpiece closer to her lips, her eyes never straying from the window. "Lucas," she said in a low voice. 

There was silence for a long moment. Then Lucas's head promptly reappeared on the screen, his face clear of its previous urgency. "Ease up. It's Tanner's kid."

Jack's shoulders heaved as she blew out the breath she'd been holding. "About damn time." She watched Nigel moved away from the wall and gave her a questioning look. She flashed him a wide grin. "We're outta here." 

*****

He could not sleep that night.

Not that Richard B. Riddick had ever been a sound sleeper; years of relying on his instincts of self-preservation had weaned him of that luxury. He had no problem with taking a quick nap every few hours, but deep sleep was out of the question. No way was he going to make a habit of lying around all night with his eyes closed, waiting for his ass to get shivved by some fool who wanted him dead (and there were plenty of them, he'd made sure of that).

But there was another reason why sleep rarely came easily to him, and it was a reason that made half of him feel irritated and the other half feel human. 

Dead memories crowded him in his sleep. They were fragments of his soul that he thought he'd lost somewhere during all his years in Slam, all his years on the run. He hadn't realized until five years ago that they hadn't disappeared, but had just buried themselves into the corners of his mind, waiting for the right time to spring up from the darkness and mob him. They were fleeting recollections at the most, faint and curious like a shiny coin that had fallen to the bottom of a murky lake. He doubted if much of them were even factual. But the unexpected feelings of want that they stirred were only too real, and he fought them back in the way that was most convenient for him: by waking them to death. 

But not even wakefulness was enough to ward off the image of Jack's face, which had emblazoned itself on his mind the second he saw it on the computer screen. 

__

Shouldn't've come, he thought as he glared up at the ceiling from his cot. _Should've left this place alone and taken the job in New Dominica. Fuck this shit -- freedom's overrated, anyway._

But Riddick knew that he wouldn't, couldn't leave. If he did, this . . . _thing_ with Jack would gnaw at him until she'd be all he thought about, in both sleep and waking. And _that_ was out of the question, so it would have to be dealt with now.

__

All right, smart ass. How do you suppose you're gonna **deal** with this? _You gonna kill her like Gardeno asked? _

Riddick frowned, doubt flickering over his now-uncovered pewter eyes. That was the job: kill Jack and he goes free. Kill Jack and the ball-and-chain that was his criminal record would be shrugged off like it had never been there. Surprisingly, despite the sting of his pride, the notion of freedom held more than a little novelty for him. He could go about his life like a semi-normal human being, start over again, maybe try to find some of that peace that he could only taste in his dreams. No more running, no more hiding -- it would all be _finished._

And all he had to do is kill Jack. 

A picture of her from their last day together abruptly flashed in his mind. Of her small, bare, doe-eyed face tilted upward to look at him, her expression pleading for him to stay. He'd almost relented, what with those eyes of hers all shiny with hurt . . . .

Riddick inwardly shook himself. _That ain't her, anymore,_ he thought with small twinge of regret._ This ain't no punk kid you're hunting._

He stopped short as the thought crossed his mind and grunted out a short, mirthless laugh. He was _hunting_ her now, was he?

The darkness in his room suddenly seemed stifling. Slowly, the sobering realization hit him. Yes, he was hunting her; he has to, now that it was clear where both of them stood, now that he knew what was at stake. It was either her or Riddick, and that was a choice that he had never stopped to question before. He certainly didn't plan on doing so now. 

"The creed is greed," he said in a voice that was barely above a growl. Briefly, he wondered if all of him believed that anymore, but he shook the feeling away. _Hell of a time to get sentimental, Dicky,_ he scoffed at himself. _What the fuck does it matter if you believe it or not? It's the truth._

His eyes grew cold in the dim room. So that was it, then. He will hunt her because he is a predator. And because Jack . . . is just another prey.

In his mind's eye, Riddick looked back at the Jack he'd seen on the monitor. Her eyes had looked directly into his, hard and unreadable. This Jack was not the helpless waif he'd left behind in New Mecca; this Jack was a stranger.

He ignored his other memory of her from five years ago and concentrated on the stony-faced woman she'd become. _Just another prey._

The sound of the knob turning cut through the silence like a bell. Before he even had time to think about it, he had moved himself to a crouch on his bed, his hand instinctively reaching for his shiv. Only when he recognized Landers's familiar silhouette as it slipped through his doorway did he allow his muscles to relax.

Reclining back on his bed, Riddick stared at the man with his silvery gaze. "Might wanna consider knocking next time. Coulda had an accident."

Landers barely blinked. "Save it for the real enemy, Riddick." 

Riddick's eyes narrowed imperceptibly at that, but he kept his face stoic. "Something's up?" he said after a moment.

"Possibly."

"Gonna tell me?"

Landers tilted his head toward the door. "Outside." Then he turned on his heel and stepped back through the door. Riddick waited a few seconds before he silently rose from his bed and followed him. 

The command center had relatively fewer people inside it at this early hour. The majority of the men had retired to their beds, just as Riddick had, and there were now only a small handful in the office. Most of them were seated in front of monitors, eyes bright and alert despite the late hour as they kept a watchful eye on the sleeping colony. Allen, Riddick noticed, was one of them.

The man swiveled around in his chair when he heard Landers and Riddick approaching. He was scowling, angrily chewing on a cigarette at the corner of his mouth. "The fuck's on us, my friends."

Riddick only raised an eyebrow. Allen sighed at his expression, and yanked the cigarette out of his mouth. "It was a god damned _decoy_," he said, nearly spitting out the word. "Can't believe I didn't realize it till now."

Riddick looked at Landers, waiting for an explanation. 

"We've been tracking Jack's movements for the last few weeks through a tracer chip that was surgically implanted into the spinal cord of one of her closest associates. One Nigel Barrows. He and Jack seem to be pretty tight. He was one of the prisoners that escaped with her a few years ago," Landers clarified.

"Implanted," Riddick said slowly.  


"Yes, as per prison regulations. That way if one of them escaped--"

"Which they did," Allen muttered.

"--we wouldn't have a problem looking for them."

Riddick crossed his arms as he tried to piece the information together. "And you're not tracking Jack using the chip in her own neck because . . . ."

"Because she had it removed. While in prison." The smallest hint of a wince crossed Landers's features before he looked at Riddick again. "Actually, it was Barrows who did it for her."

"And now," Allen said, "apparently that son of a bitch had his taken out as well. And then buried it in an abandoned warehouse in S-2."

Landers tiredly ran a hand through his hair. "Some of our men who'd been sent to Sector 9 tracked down the chip when the signals started messing with their communication. From the looks of it, it's been there for a while."

"So this whole time, you've been watching a beeping red dot on the screen, and all it was is a little piece of scrap metal."

Allen bristled at the hint of mockery in Riddick's tone. "Look buddy, I know what you're thinking. You think what we do is easy? Find her, kill her, bada-bing, bada-boom?" He shook his head sardonically. "Fucking joke. Look, we've been chasing the Bombshell from Hell for years now, and that 'beeping red dot' is the closest we ever come to her. Maybe you're used to slicing and dicing your way to the kill, and it's not like we never tried that. But this one takes a little more finesse."

Riddick snorted. "Finesse." He crossed his arms, tilted his head, and leveled his cold gaze on Allen. "Hate to tell you this . . . _buddy_ . . . but this ain't a painting. It's a killing. You wanna do it right, you gotta get your hands dirty." 

"That's enough," Landers said, not angrily but with enough force that Allen bit off his reply. "You want to get your hands dirty, that's fine. We all get our chance at that sooner or later. Till then . . . do not aggravate my men," he said warningly to Riddick.

Riddick smirked. "I wouldn't if it wasn't so damn easy."

Landers shook his head slightly and turned back to Allen who was glaring darkly at the monitor. "Get that chip sent up here and analyzed. Like it or not, it's the only lead we'll be getting for a while." 

Allen took a deep puff from his cigarette and nodded.

"All right."

Landers clapped Allen on the shoulder then moved away from the monitors, head bowed slightly and looking lost in thought. Beside him, Riddick smiled mirthlessly. "Plays hard to get, does she?"

Landers gave him a sharp look. "No one's playing around here, Riddick." 

"Yeah, I see." Riddick raised an eyebrow at him. "No wonder you haven't caught her yet. You're letting her have all the fun."

"You always think of your job as a game?"

Riddick met his disapproval with a small grin. "Not a game. A sport."

"And I bet you think you win all the time. You think you'll win this one too, don't you?" Landers's lip curled in a small smirk that was both pitying and derisive. He shook his head. "Want in on a secret? You've lost already." 

Their stares met and dueled for a long moment, each man silently challenging the other, before one of the uniformed soldiers in the command center approached Landers. His eyes darted awkwardly from one imposing man to the other before he coughed. Both sets of eyes turned their hard stares to him, and he fought down the sudden impulse to look down at his feet. 

"Sir, there's a message at the comm for you," he finally said, his eyes nervously flicking back to Riddick.

"Who is it?" said Landers.

"Bendino."

Landers frowned. "Can't it wait? It's barely morning."

"He says it's urgent, Sir."

Landers sighed, tiredly scratching the side of his jaw. "Fine. I'll take it over there."

"Yes, Sir."

Riddick watched Landers take the message on the far side of the room. The steady hum of voices around him made it hard for him to pick up the other end of the conversation, but the expression on Landers's face was interesting. Riddick watched as the other man frowned, first in surprise then in realization, before throwing a thoughtful look at the monitor beside him. 

"You sure?" he heard him say. Landers listened in silence for a few seconds, then nodded curtly, his lips pressed in a tight line. "Tanner. Yeah, in S-5. Got it." Then he shut off the comm, and whirled around to face the rest of the room. 

"Allen," he called. 

"Yep." The man turned in his chair, weariness etched on his face. 

Landers strode over to him and nodded toward his monitor. "Get Sector 5 up there."

The other man frowned slightly in confusion, but complied. The monitor beeped sluggishly as Riddick approached. Landers looked up when he was standing on the other side of Allen's chair. The thin smile on his face glowed eerily under the glare from the monitors. Riddick knew satisfaction when he saw it.

"You found her," was all he said.

Landers only nodded. Allen's eyes widened and he whipped his head around to look at him. "You serious?" Landers merely shrugged, but the almost-cocky twitch of his jaw told Allen all he needed to know. "Well, damn it, he's serious."

The monitor gave a final beep. Riddick stared at the black-and-green grid on the screen, his eyes narrowed.

Landers leaned forward and tapped his finger on the screen, indicating a single long rectangle among a nest of others. A building, Riddick guessed, and a large one, at that -- a warehouse, or an apartment building, maybe.

"This Tanner's complex?" Landers said. 

Allen nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"She's there. Tell our boys to look alive." Landers looked from Allen's stunned face to Riddick's expressionless one. "Whatever it is you do to get ready, go do it," he said to Riddick, his eyes glowing with both anticipation and seriousness. "We're going after her."

***** 

Jack opened the door to find Mr. Tanner's slightly stooped frame standing expectantly outside. Beside him, a thin, scruffy-looking young man -- _a boy, really_, she noted -- grinned tentatively at her.

"This is my son, Jason," the old man said, keeping his flinty eyes on her. "And this is your lunch." 

Jack cocked her head as she stared at the wrinkled paper bag Tanner held out toward her. "My . . . lunch?"

"Yes. To eat. Because I know that otherwise, you won't bother."

Jack grinned slightly. "We'll be fine, thanks," she said, gently pushing the offered food away.

Tanner shook his head firmly and pushed the bag into her hands. "No. You'll need it. My boy here--" he nodded at his son, "--has nothing worth eating inside that flying matchbox of his."

"Dad," Jason said, looking sheepish.

"It's true," said his father. "And no son of mine will be responsible for your malnutrition."

"Look, you've done enough for us--" Jack began. Nigel's slow footsteps from behind interrupted her. He came out of an adjoining room, the headset hanging loosely around his neck, the laptop open and cradled at the crook of his arm. He looked from Tanner, to his son, and back to Jack. He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Are we good?" 

Jack shrugged. "Good as we're gonna get, I guess. No offense," she added hastily.

"No problem," Jason said.

Jack nodded in satisfaction. "Nigel, this is Jason, our . . . driver." She gestured toward the young man who gave Nigel awkward wave in response.

Tanner hobbled forward; he had a prosthetic leg that dragged slightly on the floor and made every step appear like a painful balancing act. The neglected paper bag dangled from his outstretched hand as he lurched toward Nigel. "And, as I was saying, _this_," he said, shoving the bag into Nigel's unoccupied hand, "is your lunch."

"Aw, great!" Nigel grinned broadly and stuck his nose inside the bag, heedless of the slightly disapproving expression on Jack's face. "Christ, _burgers_. I'm not even gonna ask where ya got the meat for this."

"Just keep thinking 'cow' and you'll be fine," Tanner said. 

Nigel chuckled and gratefully clapped the older man on the shoulder. "You're a prince among men, Mr. T."

"I know. And don't call me that."

Jack looked at both of them in bemused silence before shaking her head. With a small smile, she reached out her hand to the white-haired landlord. "You've already done enough for us, but since I can't speak for Nigel's stomach--" she paused to give her friend a quick glare, "--I'll just be the one to say 'thank you' properly."

Tanner took her hand in his wrinkled one and patted it lightly with his other. "No. Thank _you_."

Jack did not miss the seriousness in his voice. She nodded, understanding, and gave the man's hand a quick squeeze before letting go. 

Tanner blew out a quick sigh, then made his way back out of the apartment, his footsteps halting and unsteady. "If you need me," he said, pausing at the door, "I'll just be in my room, blissfully sleeping the night away like any other innocent, law-abiding landlord." With that, he quietly shut the door behind him.

The remaining three stared at the door as it closed. Finally, Nigel spoke. "Hell of a dad ya got there," he said to Jason, only half joking.

The other rolled his eyes in response. "Trust me, I know."

Jack let the moment linger for only a few seconds before bringing them back to the present. "All right," she said abruptly. "Did Lucas fill you in on what to do?"

Jason nodded. "Yeah. My sandcat's in my dad's garage. You two hide in the back and I drive you over to my ship in Dock 6. And if we get stopped on way over, I'm just visiting my dad for the week and I forgot some stuff from the ship," he recited.

"Doesn't sound like much of a plan coming from you," Nigel said, frowning.

Jack shot him a look. "We don't have time to be fancy. And anyway, it's the simple ones that work." 

"Not unless you're us." 

"Funny, I thought _I_ was the voice of doom around here."

"Shoot, I forgot." Nigel winked at her, then looked around at the bare room, checking for stray equipment. "Now . . . did we get everything?"

"Think so. Everything worth taking, anyway."

"Got your babies with ya?"

Jack smirked and lifted her baggy jacket away from her body, showing him the gun that was strapped to the inside lining and another one slung comfortably at her hip. Nigel didn't see it, but he knew that a third was similarly strapped to her boot, hidden by the leg of her dark pants. "Gang's all here," she said.

Nigel grinned back before slipping the headset on. He tapped a few keys on his laptop and squinted through the static. "Lucas, we still clear?"

Jack barely heard the crackle of Lucas's voice. "Like a baby's piss, man." From beside her, Jack felt the younger Tanner bristle in distaste.

Nigel only clucked his tongue. "Cute. Ya know, Lucas, you really shouldn't use such foul language. It's not ladylike."

"Just shut up and get your asses outta there, already."

"That's no way to talk to your boss, Lucas," Jack said, chuckling softly. 

"Right, Boss." Lucas cleared his throat and tried again. "_Please_ shut up and get your asses outta there, already."

Jack grinned at the inarticulate noise Nigel made in the back of his throat. "Don't get your panties in a twist. We're coming," he said. Nigel shrugged the headset off and looked expectantly at Jack.

She stared back at him, the good humor gradually fading from her face. The darkness of the room made it difficult for the two men to see her expression, but Nigel could feel the hard, familiar focus that had abruptly returned to her features. He might never get used to that, he suddenly realized; she switched from girlish to calculating so quickly and effortlessly that it sometimes gave him a small chill. She hated the darkness, he knew, but during moments like these, it seemed as if she had been made for it. Maybe she knew it, too.

"Time to pull a fox on 'em," he said softly.

Her eyes glinted with a cold light when they met his. "Let's get going, then." She turned to Jason, who was looking distinctly out of his element as he stared back and forth between the two of them. Her voice was a soft command. "Lead the way."

Jason nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped outside the apartment. Jack followed silently, then Nigel, who spared the room a final glance before shutting the door.

The hallway seemed to stretch on like an endless black tunnel as Jason led them through it. They passed door after closed door on their silent way to the underground garage, and Jack -- whether it was because of instinct or a case of cautious paranoia -- felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as she glanced surreptitiously at the peepholes, wondering if, perhaps, behind one of those closed doors, someone was peering back. She knew it was an irrational fear; most of the apartments were vacant, anyway, and Mr. Tanner had sworn not to breathe a word to anyone else about her presence in his building. But the feeling was still there, a kind of instinctual paranoia borne from too many years spent looking over her shoulder. 

Her only consolation was the knowledge that if anyone actually saw her, chances are that they would know who she was and would try to protect her by keeping their mouths shut. But if any of them got hurt because they kept their mouths shut -- if any of them died trying to protect her . . . . Jack shook herself. _Well, you're just gonna have to make sure that they don't, aren't'cha?_ she thought bitterly. 

Unbidden, the gentle face of the man who would have made himself her father cut through her thoughts like a shard of glass. _God, Imam,_ she thought as they carefully rounded a dark corner, _you'd freak if you knew what I've been up to._

She nearly grinned, but the sorrow that accompanied his memory wouldn't allow it. She heaved an inward sigh, instead.

Jack didn't doubt the loyalty she inspired in these people -- just whether she deserved it.

A muffled "Oof!" a few paces in front of her caused her to tense in mid-step.

"Jason?"

The young man steadied himself against the wall. Through the weak light from a nearby sconce, Jack could just discern his sheepish expression. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just . . . uh, watch your step." He pointed at a broken floorboard with his foot.

They continued down the hallway until they reached the door to the stairwell. Jason wrestled with the knob for a few moments, gritting his teeth as the door refused to budge. 

"Something wrong?" Nigel asked.

"Yeah, uh . . . it's this lock. Gotta be, like, ancient." Jason twisted the lock back and forth with both hands. The door responded with barely a squeak.

Jack gestured him aside and tested the knob herself. "Hm. Not the knob. It's the door. Too warped."

"We're not trying the elevator," Nigel said, frowning doubtfully.

"Nah. Lemme just . . . ." Jack leaned her slender body against the door and, with a careful shove, popped the door loose. Jason stared mutely as she casually brushed herself off and pushed the door wide open for him. "After you," she said.

Nigel saw his expression and took pity on him. "Ya get used to the 'Girl Power' thing after a while," he told him. 

Jason only nodded and passed through the door, gingerly making his way down the stairs. He didn't see Nigel and Jack exchange grins and a shake of heads behind him. 

"How long you in the planet for, Jason?" Jack asked as they descended. 

"Uh . . . two weeks. Three maybe, if you still need my ship."

"I guess I should warn you -- Nigel and I can get pretty messy."

"Not that we're pigs, or nothin'. Just comes with the work, ya know?" Nigel said from behind her.

"Uh, no, but I can imagine." Jason stumbled slightly, and flailed out his hand for balance. Jack lunged forward and caught his wrist, steadying him. Jason nodded breathlessly up at her. "Thanks . . . . But yeah, be as messy as you want. I think I'll be able to forgive you. You know, considering . . . ." He shrugged.

"Considering what?" said Jack.

"Well, you know." Jason shrugged again. "What you do . . . . It's a lot more important than keeping my ship clean, that's all." He paused and carefully edged around a broken step. "Watch out for this next one. Anyway . . . you have free reign of it for three weeks. And if you need anything, I guess you know where to find me."

"No." 

At her abrupt answer, Jason stopped and turned, just catching the frown shadowing Jack's face. She saw his confusion and shook her head. "I meant," she said, softening her tone, "that letting us hole up in your ship is enough, thanks."

Jason nodded after a moment. "Uh . . . okay," he said uncertainly. "But, you know, if you need anything--"

"You'll hear from us," said Nigel, glancing at Jack. She gave a forced nod. 

Jason just shrugged absently, and cursed as his toe caught the base of the iron handrail. "Three more flights to go," he said over his shoulder.

Jack heard Nigel grunt behind her. "Tanner ever hear the term 'home improvement'?" he muttered as he nearly tripped on an uprooted floorboard.

"Just grin and bear it, buddy," said Jack. "Keep thinking of those burgers he packed for us."

"Don't remind me. Soon as we get to that ship, you're gonna have to fight me for the crumbs."

"Won't be much of a fight, dude. You know I'll just kick your--"

"Shit!" Jack heard a soft thud behind her and felt the wooden floorboards vibrate as something collapsed heavily on them. She didn't need to turn around to know that Nigel was in a heap on the floor behind her.

"Loose board," Jason said uselessly. "Watch your step."

Nigel grit his teeth. "Thanks for the warning." Jack saw him wince as he tried to stand up, reaching for the handrail with one hand while trying to balance the laptop in the other.

"Nigel?"

"I'm fine," he said, his face clenching. 

Jack rolled her eyes. "Uh-huh. Wha'd you just hurt?" she said, frowning as she watched him hold on to the rail with a white-knuckled grip. 

Nigel bit his lip and shook his head. "Ankle. Nothin' serious, I think. Just twisted it." Slowly, tried to ease himself down to the next step, but grimaced when his weight shifted to his right foot. "Fuck."

"Wait. Here." Jack stepped toward him and pried his hand off the rail. She draped his arm over her shoulder and braced herself for the weight of his body. Nigel didn't weigh much, but then, neither did Jack. She was pinned against him and the rail, which bit into the flesh at her hip, but she ignored the slight sting as they slowly made their way down the steps toward Jason. He looked at them with a concerned expression.

"Should we stop?" he asked, glancing down at Nigel's limp ankle. 

Nigel shook his head vehemently, almost hitting Jack's forehead with his chin. "Hell no, we don't stop."

Jason looked from him to Jack, who nodded gravely. "All right," Jason said finally. "But we have two more flights."

Nigel locked his jaw against the shooting pain in his foot. "Keep going," he said through gritted teeth.

They made their way down the rest of the flight awkwardly. Jack kept a tight grip around Nigel's waist, using his weight to anchor her own balance as they navigated down the rickety steps. Occasionally, she looked up at him, knowing all too well what the grim set of his face meant. He was blaming himself for slowing them down. 

She gave him a companionable squeeze as they descended a particularly crooked step. "Almost there, Nigel," said Jack.

"Shoulda been more careful," he said, letting out a soft hiss as his foot touched down. "We'd be in the sandcat by now."

"Not your fault."

"Yeah, it is."

"Okay." 

She smiled softly when she heard his dry burst of laughter. 

A faint beeping sound caught her attention. She looked at the laptop, still tucked securely under Nigel's free arm. "That Lucas?" 

"Well, it ain't the tooth fairy." Carefully unwinding his arm from around Jack's shoulders, Nigel opened the laptop and punched in some keys. Pausing at the turn, Jason turned around and looked up at them, a questioning frown on his face. Jack motioned for him to stop for a second.

Nigel adjusted the headset around his face, and squinted through the static on the screen. "Lucas? Yo, Lucas, talk to me, man. This ain't no time for a booty call."

Jack peered over his shoulder. Lucas's face was barely perceptible through the wavy lines, but the urgency stamped across his broad face was clear. "Tell me you're in the sandcat," he said in a low tone. "Tell me you're about to leave."

Jack felt her breath catch in her throat. "Lucas, what's wrong?" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jason's eyes widen in near panic.

"Army vehicles. About seven of them. All of them the gov's." She barely heard Nigel's curse as she took in Lucas's next words: 

"They're headed right for you."

Jack took a deep breath. "How far away?"

"Nearest one's about half a mile from Tanner's. Maybe more, but not by much. Going east." 

She nodded. "That's far enough. We still got time." She straightened, tightened her grip around Nigel, and looked down at Jason, inwardly wincing at the raw fear she saw glazing his eyes. "Jason."

He shook his head, his mouth opening and closing uselessly. "H-how . . . how did they find us?" he finally said, his voice squeaking slightly. 

"Sometimes we get lucky, sometimes _they_ get lucky." Jack gave him a hard look. "Now, keep moving." 

A light sheen of sweat began to form on Jason's forehead. He didn't seem to hear her command. "So . . . so, what, are they gonna catch us? What if we get caught, we don't--"

"Jason."

"Maybe we should just hide out in here and wait till--"

"Jason!" Her voice seemed to boom through the darkness in the stairwell. Jason's head snapped up as if she'd slapped him. Jack looked him straight in the eye. "_Move._"

His eyes widened even more and for a second, Jack was afraid he would throw up. Instead, he whirled back around and practically threw himself around the corner, the sound of his harried steps floating through the darkness. Beside her, Nigel pried his eyes away from the monitor and nodded in his direction. "He don't got much in the way of balls, but the kid can run." 

"He's got the right idea, though. I don't wanna hurt you, Nigel, but we're gonna have to speed it up, here," said Jack as she led them down the steps after Jason. Slow and careful was not even an option anymore. Nigel's feet hit the steps with awkward jolts as she picked up the pace. She felt his muscles clench as he braced himself against the pain.

"Gonna hurt a lot more if we get caught," he said. 

They stumbled down the steps with Jack half-carrying, half-dragging Nigel over the stairs. Through the sharp slap of their feet against the floor, Jack heard Lucas's voice through the headset that Nigel still wore. "You all are gonna have to move a lot faster." 

"Almost there," Jack said under her breath. "Almost there."

"How much longer, Lucas?" Nigel said into the mouthpiece. He hissed as his foot came down hard on a step. Jack winced in silent apology. 

"I figure you got about ten minutes, tops." 

"Shit."

"No kidding. What's the hold up?"

"No way I'm tellin' ya, man. I'll never live it down."

She hauled them both over the stairs, their descent getting darker and darker with each step. Soon, she could barely see Jason's lanky silhouette in front of her. Her keen ears strained through the vague echoes in the stairwell to single out the sound of the younger Tanner's footsteps. Blindly, she followed them, holding her breath each time her foot stepped down and latching on to the handrail for her only support. "Jason, tell me we're almost there," she called, breathing heavily.

"Almost. Just one more . . . I hope."

"You _hope_?" Oh, God, he better be kidding . . . . He didn't answer her. She heard his footsteps quicken until they were almost at a run. Then there was a sudden thud, then a groan, then silence.

"Jason?" Jack reached the bottom of a step and nearly stumbled when her foot unexpectedly met level ground. _What now?_ She whipped her head around, trying to distinguish the shadows apart in the darkness. "Jason?"

"We're here."

They both turned and saw him standing in a corner, rubbing his nose with one hand and his forehead with the other. "I, uh, walked into the wall." 

Jack felt Nigel's shoulders heave against her. _Figures that he'd find something to laugh about **now**,_ she thought dryly. But despite herself, she released the breath she'd been holding. She nodded at the door to the garage. "Any day now, Jason."

"Oh. Right." He grasped the knob in his hand and gave it a quick turn. The door didn't move. He tried again. It didn't open. Recalling their similar problem earlier, he pressed himself flush against the door and gave it a hard shove. The door remained closed. Helplessly, he looked at Jack.

Sighing, she helped Nigel lean against the wall. He sagged against it gratefully. "Go bust down that door, hero," he said with a tired grin. He winced as Lucas's voice squawked at him through the headset. "Apparently, we got six minutes," he told her.

__

Damn. Jack left his side and moved over to the door. "Help me." she said to Jason. He nodded quickly. Together, they rammed their shoulders against the door, the impact jarring their bones. They threw their bodies against it for several long, painful moments until Jason stopped and stared up at the door, his expression both frustrated and plaintive. The door stood immobile before them.

"Three minutes," said Nigel. "If you tell me that door's too warped, I think I'm gonna fuckin' laugh."

Jack gave it a final violent shove before flinging her jacket open and reaching for her gun. "Save your breath. It's the knob." she said shortly. 

Nigel sighed. He looked at Jason. "When this is all over, you and your educated academy boy ass are gonna help your dad fix every single fucking door and stair in this building." He shook his head and watched Jack as she took aim.

Jason didn't answer him, and instead huddled further into a corner and covered his ears. Jack leveled the gun at the knob. She pulled the trigger and fired off a single shot, the sound echoing through the dark stairwell like a clap of thunder. The knob clattered uselessly to the ground. Jack kicked the door open with her foot, and gestured for Jason to go first. She leaned Nigel against her and followed him into the garage.

As they stumbled through the darkness, Jack heard Lucas's voice hissing into Nigel's ear. "Got it," Nigel said. His voice was strangely quiet. He turned his face toward Jack. He seemed almost calm. "Don't kill the messenger, Jack, but time's up. They're at the front door."

Jack took a deep breath and looked around the garage. She spotted the sandcat several yards away. A heavy tarp had been slung over the flatbed. She nodded absently then sought out Jason. His face was garishly pale against the shadows. He looked like he had just found himself trapped in a waking nightmare.

__

This is what I do, kid, she thought coldly. _This is what I mean by 'messy'_. 

But he looked like such a boy, standing before her, shaking and fearful. He didn't ask for _this_, she reminded herself. In a long moment of resignation, she made up her mind.

Aloud, her voice was soft. "We're gonna have to improvise." She felt Nigel stiffen against her in surprise.

"Improvise?" Jason nearly squeaked. "Improvise _how_? How do you improvise running for your life?" 

"Trust me, it's not that hard."

Jason gulped. "Wh-what are we gonna do?" 

"_We_ are gonna make sure that all of us get outta here safe. And for that to happen, I need you to be calm. Can you do that?"

Jason took deep, wavering breaths and nodded. 

"Good." Jack looked up at Nigel. His face was etched with tension and pain, and for a quick second she thought she glimpsed a cloud of doubt flickering over his eyes. But it was gone in a moment, and he eventually managed a tired, supportive nod. She squeezed his waist both in thanks and in apology for what she was going to make him do. 

"Now listen," she said, gesturing for Jason to come closer. "This is what's gonna happen . . . ."

Moments later, they broke apart. Jason's face was shiny and flushed as his eyes ricocheted between the other two. "You're . . . you're sure that they won't--"

"Look, forget about being sure. Just do what I told you and let us worry about the rest, all right?"

Her hard look silenced him. He took a deep breath and forced his feet to carry him toward the sandcat. Jack watched in silence as he got in the vehicle.

"You ready for this?" she asked Nigel without taking her eyes off Jason.

He shrugged and slowly disentangled himself from her. "Doesn't matter much, does it? We're gonna have to do it whether we're ready or not." Gingerly, he balanced himself on his feet while Jack watched. "Anyway . . . God knows we've done worse."

A loud rumble from the ground level caught her attention. Grimly, she looked up at the darkened ceiling of the garage as if her eyes could somehow pierce through the wooden planks and see exactly what was going on up there. A few yards away, Jason's sandcat rumbled to life. Jack pulled her gun from its holster. Beside her, Nigel tucked the laptop inside his arm and pulled out his own weapon. At her nod, they crept to the side of the idle sandcat. 

Nigel crouched behind Jack. She could feel his hot breath as it came out in short, heavy gasps against the back of her neck. Her own pulse was rising. The noises from the lobby increased. Jack narrowed her eyes as she pictured the unruly mass of soldiers that was noisily congregating in the lobby.

She shook her head in disgust. "They're like bloodhounds up there," she said in a low voice.

"Gonna make 'em play dead if they're not careful," Nigel said, tightening his grip on his gun.

They listened to the muffled sounds of booted feet. Unconsciously, they crept closer to the sandcat. The heat from the engine assaulted the cool skin on Jack's face, but she remained still, her ears intent on the noises from above. She didn't move her head when she finally spoke.

"Nigel." 

"Yeah."

"If something happens . . . I better not catch you trying to be my hero."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he lied. 

"I mean it. I'm trusting you to keep yourself alive. It'll be easier for me to focus." He remained silent, not liking what she said, but listening anyway. She continued. 

"You can't watch your ass if you're worrying about mine. If they come at us, you either shoot or run. And if you run, you damn well better run like hell itself is back there chasing you." 

*****

"I'd ask if you have a warrant, but I know you people too well for that."

Tanner glared as best as he could at the group of armed, uniformed men that had unceremoniously collected in his lobby. Through the broken glass pane of his front door -- they could've just_ knocked,_ he thought, annoyed -- he could see a line of sandcats scattered over the dusty street in front of his building. A brief shot of apprehension ran through his weathered frame, but he inwardly shook it off and pinned his flinty eyes on the two men directly in front of him.

One of them he recognized all too well. That tall, gloomy-faced blonde man. Head of his president's elite troops. Landers was his name, Tanner recalled, but the citizens had a long list of much more creative names for him, names that never left the secrecy of their bedrooms or the close circle of their dinner tables. They scorned him for being too pretty, hated him for serving their enemy, and seemed to shrink inside their rags whenever he came near. The people both vilified and feared him, and if it wasn't for the fact that they knew him so well, they might also have respected him.

But the other one . . . the dark, silent, hulking one standing beside Landers, the one with the goggles and the face like carved stone. Tanner didn't recognize him, and that fact made the old landlord more than a little nervous. 

Landers ignored his barb. "I'm going to have to ask you to cooperate and keep out of our way."

"Can I at least ask what it is you're invading my property for?"

Landers looked down at him coldly. "I think you know."

He waved his hand and a group of soldiers began up the stairs, their heavily booted feet straining the wood. He quietly commanded the others to scan the area outside. "Block the exits," he said.

Tanner winced at the soldiers' loud movements as they moved. Landers and Riddick began to ascend the stairs behind them. Tanner hastily blocked their path, his false limb clomping hollowly against the floorboards. "I have tenants," he said acidly to Landers. 

"And we have a job. Now move out of our way."

Tanner narrowed his eyes at him. "You might at least let them have a little peace instead of stomping the place down. They're trying to sleep."

"Are you sure that's all they're doing?"

"I'm _sure_ that I have no idea what's going on."

"Just a fox hunt, old man." Riddick's rumbling voice made Tanner jump. The landlord looked at him, his eyes narrowing at the knowing smirk that appeared on Riddick's otherwise impassive face. Despite the goggles, his gaze was unnerving. 

Tanner suppressed a shiver, and forced his voice into a tone of controlled indignation. "Call it whatever you want. This is my home," he said firmly. 

"Don't make me use force on _you_, Tanner," Landers said, trying to edge past the man.

"Why not? I got another leg to spare." Tanner grinned sardonically and tapped his wooden foot on the floor for emphasis. 

Landers raised an unamused eyebrow at him. "I'm warning you."

Tanner chuckled. "Warning me. He's _warning_ me, he says. How polite of you." His laugh ended harshly. He stared down at Landers, his eyes dark with an old anger. "I bet you believe it, too -- bet you think you know what you're doing. I've seen you walking around, doing your master's duty like a puppy. Well, I won't have it. If your blessed Gardeno wants trouble from me, then he can come get it himself." 

"He's not interested in _you_, and you know it. Now, if you want to make this easy for all of us, then you'll give us who we're after." Landers stared at Tanner and waited for a response. 

The man gripped the handrail tightly, his knuckles jutting against the gnarled skin on his hands. He clenched his jaw and glared down at the two men for a long moment. "It doesn't surprise me that you think of betrayal as _easy_," he spat. "Go on and do your _job_, boy. Once you're done not finding her, I want you all gone." Wordlessly, he flattened himself against the wall, leaving the way clear for the two men. 

Landers met the man's fierce stare for a brief second before averting his eyes. He climbed the stairs two at a time, Riddick closely following. They stopped at the third floor where a line of soldiers had strategically placed themselves along a corridor. They were flattened against the wall, guns drawn, around a closed door with "318" printed crudely on it in fading black paint. One of them looked up as Landers and Riddick approached.

"Sir?" he said in a hushed tone.

Landers drew his own gun from its holster and moved to one side of the door. Riddick moved to the other side, his fingers brushing his shiv but not yet drawing it. Landers nodded at him silently. Smooth as a panther, Riddick reared back, muscles coiling.

A loud crash echoed through the hallway as he kicked the door open. The sheer force of the blow knocked the door loose from one of its rusted hinges. Landers was the first to surge inside the apartment, gun drawn. Riddick followed, crouched like a wary cat. His eyes narrowed as he looked around the sparse room. The other soldiers quickly crowded through the doorway behind him, but he ignored them as he peered through the darkness. 

Nothing. Shadows danced across the bare walls, and a dingy curtain fluttered slightly from the small crack in the window, but beyond that, his keen eyes sensed nothing.

"Bedroom. Check the bedroom," he heard Landers say to the soldiers behind him. 

Riddick straightened his stance and sniffed at the stale, dusty air. He frowned after a second; something caught at his senses, almost violently. A faint scent, but sharp all the same, and familiar somehow. _Jack?_ The thought briefly crossed his mind, but he quickly discarded it. He wouldn't recognize her scent after all these years, would he? Besides . . . something about the scent tugged at a much more recent memory. 

Landers appeared at his shoulder. His jaw was clenched. "She's not here."

Riddick said nothing. He moved toward the bare desk sitting in front of the window and absently ran his hand over the uneven surface. Behind him, Landers gave out orders to his men. 

"I want every room in this building searched. Dwayne, you and a few others, outside. I want the perimeter covered." 

"Yes, Sir." 

"Mertzer, go downstairs and make sure Tanner doesn't go anywhere." 

"Yes, Sir."

Landers's eyes, dark with frustration, swept the room once more and landed on Riddick who was still standing over the desk, eyes thoughtfully staring out into space. 

"What is it?"

Riddick's brow furrowed slightly. "Smell," he said.

Landers breathed in, then shook his head. "I don't smell anything. Look around you -- there's no one here to smell."

"Try again. It's cologne."

Landers looked at him blankly. "What?"

Riddick didn't answer. Instead he strode to the now-empty bedroom. It was as bare as the rest of the apartment. Two thin mattresses, stacked on top of each other, occupied much of the meager floor space. A flickering manual overhead light swung from the ceiling. There were no windows, and a small closet in the corner had been thrown wide open and stripped clean. 

He inhaled deeply; the scent was stronger. 

Landers followed him inside. "This Barrows you mentioned," Riddick said without turning around. "He wears cologne?"

"Never noticed."

"Not surprised."

Landers frowned at his unspoken criticism. "You know, we have radar now. Tracking devices. They tend to be more effective than sniffing someone out like a pack of dogs."

Riddick ignored his comment and knelt down beside the stacked mattresses. "Think Jack wears perfume?" he asked as he ran his hands over the sheets.

Landers snorted in disbelief. "You know what, I'll ask her next time I happen to run into her." 

"You do that. This room reeks with it."

"What would either of them be doing going around and smelling nice? I doubt if they could even afford it."

__

So do I, Riddick thought after a moment. And he didn't care how long it had been since he knew her -- Jack had never struck him as the type to wear fragrance, and he doubted if that had changed along with everything else about her. He sniffed at the air again, and suddenly an image from earlier in the evening rose to the forefront of his mind, of that little egg-shaped man that had rushed out of the elevator as they emerged from Gardeno's office.

"Bendino," he said suddenly.

Landers looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "What about him?"

Riddick's eyes narrowed as the realization came to him. "Bendino. It's his cologne. Smelled it on him earlier." Riddick plunged his hands between the mattresses. Shortly, as Landers watched, he pulled out something yellow and shiny. A blazer. Exposed in the air, the faint hint of cologne coming from the blazer became more noticeable to Landers, who frowned as he looked at it.

"Look familiar?" said Riddick, holding it up and checking the pockets.

"Bendino's?" 

"Got his scent all over it." He grunted as he found that the pockets were empty. Riddick pushed himself to his feet and gave the coat to Landers who accepted it silently. 

Riddick moved back into the living room. He lowered himself on the rolling chair behind the desk, leaned back and propped his feet on the bare wood. Silently, he watched Landers as he stood with the coat in his hand, looking thoughtful. 

"What was he doing here?" Riddick finally asked, nodding at the blazer.

"Good question."

"You didn't ask him?"

Landers shook his head. "It's not my job to tail _him_ around."

Riddick cocked his head. "Well, it should be. If it helps you find Jack." 

"Do you see her anywhere?" Landers said pointedly, gesturing at the empty room. "She's probably long gone."

"You think so?" Riddick put his feet down on the floor and rolled his chair closer to the desk. He laid his hand on the surface of the desk and motioned for Landers to do the same. "Feel it."

Landers placed his palm flat against the desk. After a moment, he frowned. "It's warm." 

"A computer, I'm guessing. She had to have been working on it for a long time for the desk to be so warm." Riddick tilted his head toward the shadowed corner. Landers spotted a small outlet near the foot of the wall. "Probably got caught in the middle of some work and left in a hurry."

Realization flashed in Landers's eyes. "She knew we were coming."

"Looks like it."

Landers slowly shook his head. "So where--"

"Shh." Riddick tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he stared into space. "Listen."

The faint purr of a sandcat rolling past the building wafted into the room. Eyes widening, Landers strode to the window behind the desk and looked down. Through the shadows falling on the street, they saw a lone, unfamiliar sandcat moving away from the apartment building. Landers grabbed a hand held radio from his pocket as Riddick joined him.

"Dwayne!" he barked into the radio.

"Sir?" Riddick heard the reply through a layer of static.

"I told you to keep the perimeter secured. That means no one leaves this building until I give the word."

"Sir?"

Landers took in a slow, deep breath. "Why did you let that sandcat leave?" he said in a low, precise voice.

"Sorry, Sir. But we checked his ID, and he looked clean. Just Tanner's academy boy from Solaris System."

"I don't care if he looked clean or not, soldier. I gave you orders."

"Sir, we searched his vehicle. There was nothing there."

Landers shook his head in disbelief. "Well, what did you expect? For them to be hitching a ride in the back?" He paused and wiped a weary hand down the side of his face. "Where is he headed?"

"His ship, Sir. In Dock 6. Said he forgot some supplies."

"Take a few of the others, go over there and hold him. He's not going anywhere until we ask him some questions."

"Yes, Sir."

Landers sighed as he switched off the connection. "If Tanner won't talk, I'm betting his kid will." 

Riddick didn't reply. He was looking out the window, his attention no longer on the street below but on the apartment building looming across from theirs. His eyes had spotted a small movement from one of the blackened windows. He scanned the grim brick facade for a sign of life, but found none. The building looked as dead and empty as the rest of Terra Mala.

Landers joined him at the window. His gaze followed Riddick's. "What is it now?"

"Don't know. Yet."

Riddick's careful gaze ran over the front of the building and abruptly stopped at a window at the third floor. 

There. 

A quick gleam of black metal shone from the window, barely perceptible even to his enhanced vision. He narrowed his eyes. The object jutted out from the otherwise opaque blackness, moonlight glancing off the surface. It was a scope, he realized, and it was fixed directly on their building. 

"I spy with my little eye . . . ." he murmured. 

Abruptly, as if sensing Riddick's scrutiny, the scope suddenly jerked, yanked itself away from the window and disappeared into the darkness behind it. Riddick grinned. 

Clever girl.

Landers stiffened when Riddick pushed himself away from the window and moved toward the door, purpose in his stride. "Where are you going?" he said to Riddick's rapidly retreating back.

"Gonna go do what you hired me for. Problem?" Riddick reached the door, flung it aside and stomped his way down the darkened corridor. "Stay here and keep an eye on that building across the street," he called back to Landers.

"Riddick--"

"She's there," he said flatly, not bothering to turn around. "And she's mine."

Landers's gaze slowly swung from the window and back to Riddick's large frame. "You'll need backup," was all he said.

Riddick laughed, a low, gravely sound that crept through the dust-thick air like a disembodied snake. "First lesson, Landers: I ain't you."

Landers watched Riddick's retreating silhouette as he moved rapidly down the corridor, the shadows in the hallway wrapping themselves around his broad frame like an old friend. He waited until Riddick's footsteps had faded before he followed.

*****

They ran through hallways that seemed to go on forever. Behind her, Jack could hear Nigel awkwardly limping after her, occasionally stopping to bark into the mouthpiece that still hung at a slant on his head. 

"Nigel, where--"

"Left," he said, breathing heavily. "Just go left."

Jack skidded at the end of the hallway and veered left. "Lucas!" she called out. The darkness seemed to swallow her voice as she ran past door after door. _The same . . . they all look the same._ "Lucas!" she yelled again, louder this time.

Nigel's halting footsteps approached her. "He's breaking up," he said. 

Jack didn't seem to hear him. She whipped her head around, frantically glancing up and down the dim hallway. "God _damn_ it, Lucas, where are you?"

"Jack," Nigel called to her back.

Her legs were beginning to burn, but she continued relentlessly down the corridor, ignoring the pain along with Nigel's voice. "Lucas!" She assaulted each door that she encountered with her fist, banging at the helpless wood while repeatedly calling out his name. Behind her, Nigel shook his head tiredly.

"Jack, stop!" His voice echoed raggedly through the air. 

Jack blew out a harsh breath and turned around. Nigel was slumped against the wall several yards away, pain and tension etched on his sweaty face. He looked resignedly at her through the dimness. "Jack, his signal's shot to hell -- I can't find him."

Jack stared at him for a long moment. "Damn it. Damn--" Jack slammed her fist at the door beside her one last time before turning around and leaning heavily against it. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Where . . . where'd he say he was gonna be?"

"He didn't. This wasn't supposed to be part of the plan, remember? He was on the third floor, last we talked to him. 'Sall I know." 

Jack straightened and looked around the unfamiliar hallway. "Well, we gotta find him." She continued down the corridor.

"Jack."

"What?"

"Jack, he might not even be here anymore."

Jack whirled around. She glared at him. "So what are you saying? That he just up and left? I'm not buying that."

"Then where is he? Why won't he answer us?"

Jack's palm hit the wall with a loud slap. "He wouldn't just leave us!"

Nigel sighed. "Jack, I'm not saying that he just turned his back on us. But what if he had to go? What if someone else saw him, or got a hold of his signal and came after him and he had to run?"

Jack shook her head. "We would've known -- he would've told us."

"You sure? Things can get pretty screwed up when you're on the run, Jack." 

Jack took a deep breath. After a moment, she spoke again, her voice quiet and firm. "He didn't run. If he did, we would've seen him, or _they_ would've seen him and started firing and he'd be dead by now. He's here."

Nigel looked at her resolute expression. Her chin was set in that familiar way that told him she wasn't about to be swayed, whether or not she herself had doubts. After a long moment, he finally nodded. "Fine. How do you suggest we look for him, then?"

Jack raked her fingers through her tangled hair as she stared helplessly down the long, dark stretch of hallway before her. "I don't know," she said.

Nigel let the silence hang for a few seconds before he came to a decision. "We should split up."

Jack frowned. "I don't think so."

"Why not? If he _is_ here, we gotta find him fast. We'll cover more ground this way." 

"Hell, I know all that, Nigel." Jack looked darkly at him as he struggled to keep his balance. He caught her gaze as it settled on his swollen ankle.

"Look, if it's my foot you're thinking of, forget it. I'll deal." When he saw her indecision, he forced a grin. "Forget about watching my ass, Jack. That's my job, remember?"

Jack stood before him, her expression unreadable. Nigel took a deep breath and forced a neutral tone to his voice. "Or, we can leave without him."

Her response was immediate. "No." Her eyes hardened as she stared resolutely at him. "No -- we look for him. You take this floor. I'll work my way down. You find him, you yell and then . . . _then_ we'll get outta here."

Nigel gave her a quick nod. Jack turned on her heel and made her way to the second floor, feeling Nigel's eyes on her back the entire way. 

The second floor, Jack realized, was just like the third, only darker. Biting her lip, she slowly looked around. Shadows leaped ominously around her, moving in time with the dull yellow flickering from a nearby sconce. Through the dimness, she could barely make out the outlines of the doors on either side of her. She held her breath, listening to her heart hammer out its nervousness. The emptiness in the hallway was so complete, it was almost alive. 

She shook off her growing apprehension. "Lucas," she muttered, taking small comfort in the sound of her own voice. "Find Lucas."

She stalked through the hallway, knocking loudly at every door, rattling every knob, eyes flickering warily over her shoulder every few paces. Vaguely, she thought she could hear Nigel doing the same just above her head. She heard his muffled footsteps as he hobbled along the hallway above, stopping and starting just as she did when he came to another locked door. Eventually, his sounds faded away as he moved to the opposite end of the hallway. Soon it was silent again. 

Jack felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as the weight of the quiet fell on her ears. _Lucas, if I ever find you, I'm gonna kill you for this._ She resumed walking, her feet carrying her hastily along the darkness as she tried door after door. Each time, her knocks were met with silence. She bit her lip in frustration and cast another wary look at the dark hallway behind her. Her stare found only the same black nothingness, but she still couldn't shake the feeling of phantom eyes following her every step.

__

"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?"

Jack shivered. Her hand crept to her hip and over the bulky outline of her gun as she gazed intently at the formless shadows around her. "Fuck you," she muttered as the memory of Riddick's low timbre flitted through her head. 

She quickened her pace, heedless of the loud echo of her footsteps against the floor. She was nearing the end of the hallway when she suddenly stiffened and stopped. She held her breath, listening to the rhythmic thrumming of her pulse. She could've _sworn_ she'd heard something . . . .

She turned her head slightly. "Nigel?" 

Silence. 

Unconsciously, she flicked her tongue over her suddenly-dry lips. _It's only natural,_ she thought almost desperately, her eyes darting from one shadow to another, her hand flexing over the awkward bulk of her gun through her jacket. _You're in a high-stress situation, you're tense, and now you're hearing things. Only natural._

Gradually, her pulse settled its frantic hammering. Her footsteps were steady but swift as she turned and once again moved further along the corridor. The darkness seemed to become more complete with every step, but she steeled herself against it. Jack reached out a blind hand to her side and, finding the craggy surface of the wall, used it to help her keep her bearings. 

She stopped again after several minutes when she reached a corner in the hallway and her hand lost contact with the wall. In the middle of trying to find it again, an unmistakable sound from behind her caught her ears. 

A footfall. Deceptively soft and stealthy, made by someone who knew how not to get caught. It was a sound so quiet that Jack would not have heard it at all if she hadn't noticed the long, eerily familiar shadow that stretched across the floor, that dwarfed her own shadow with its bulky silhouette, that moved in time with her movements and seemed to stalk her from one end of the darkness to the other. 

__

Oh God.

Jack's feet were suddenly incapable of taking another step. Her eyes were rooted to the shadow. It lay equally still on the floor at her feet, faceless and black, seeming to mock her with its silence. She couldn't breathe. 

__

Turnaround, turnaround, dontyoudare . . . .

She slowly turned on her heel and faced him. His eyes were uncovered, silvery and electric against the darkness, and she felt something inside her crumple as she met them. His voice was as beautiful as she remembered.

"Hear you've been raisin' hell, kid." 

All it took was that final split-second for reality to crash down on her like a cold wave. Jack clenched her fists. Her gaze never wavered as she forced a slow, dangerous smile on her face. 

"I learned from the best," she said before her fist flew out and struck him squarely on the jaw. 

Her hand exploded with pain. She barely took the time to watch as his face snapped to the side before she whirled around and ran headlong into the darkness. Her feet pounded furiously against the floor, and her breath ripped out of her in loud gasps. Behind her, she heard his long strides closing in on her. 

"Jaaaa-aaack." Riddick's low voice floated toward her. 

Jack barely missed hitting the wall as she rounded a sharp turn in the hallway. Her legs were pumping on instinct now, her head suddenly ringing with the harsh sound of her breathing and his rapidly approaching footsteps. It felt like running through one of her nightmares.

Suddenly, a vise clamped down on her shoulder and she was slammed face-first against the wall. A loud hiss of pain escaped her. The hand curled itself around the back of her neck, cruelly gripping the collar of her jacket and bringing her head back toward his. His breath was warm against her skin.

"Never thought you'd be the type to run," he said in a low growl, crushing her between the weight of his body and the unyielding wall. 

She grit her teeth. "It's called 'strong survival instinct,' you--"

She jabbed her elbow backwards. Riddick's hand loosened its hold on her collar as he blocked her arm. Jack took the opportunity to release her other arm from the sleeve of her jacket and yank herself away from him. She heard him grunt and stumble as she roughly shoved herself away from the wall and bolted, leaving him clutching only her jacket.

The chilly air assaulted her exposed arms as she ran blindly ahead. Her hands were flung out to the sides, searching for the wall. Riddick's footsteps behind her reverberated through the floor like distant thunder. After an eternity, Jack found the door to the stairwell. She flung the door open and, heedless of the near-perfect black surrounding her, raced down the steps. 

__

Damn it, Nigel, be down there. Please be down there, she thought frantically, nearly stumbling.

"Got soldiers all over the place, Jack." Riddick's casual voice ricocheted against the walls, the sound coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. "Waitin' for you to just run right out, right to them. That's what the other one did -- your guy with the scope. Remember him?" 

Jack clenched her jaw and kept running. Sure enough, when she finally reached the exit to the first floor, she heard the low confusion of unfamiliar voices just beyond the other side of the door. She inwardly cursed, and tossed a quick glance above her. Though she couldn't make him out through the darkness, she heard Riddick's measured footsteps about a half-flight away. 

"Dead end, kid," he called down to her.

She narrowed her eyes at his voice. _Not yet, pal._

Jack passed the door and continued her hasty descent. Riddick's footsteps sounded disturbingly close. She reached the end of the stairwell and found herself standing in front of a closed door. Without thinking, aware only of the man following her, she rammed her shoulder against the door. It broke away from its splintered frame and Jack stumbled inside.

She backed away from the door, breathing heavily. She whipped her head around, trying to take in her surroundings. To her relief, the room was not as dark as the stairwell had been, and her eyes quickly adjusted to the dimness. The first thing she noticed was the low hum of a generator. Through the shadows, she could make out the jungle of pipes around her. 

She edged further away from the door, stopping abruptly as a thin, blue beam of dusty light fell on her head. She looked up, noticing for the first time a narrow window near the ceiling. Her heartbeat quickened as she quickly scanned the floor for something to stand on. 

The quiet sound of Riddick's footsteps stopped her. Jack's hand shook as she drew her gun from the holster at her waist. Silently, she ducked behind a long wall of pipes and waited for him.

His shadow entered the room first, stretching almost the entire length of the small room. Jack peeked through a slit between the pipes, taking in his familiar, predatory saunter as he stepped through the door. He walked to the middle of the room, stopped, then slowly turned his head, his shined eyes devouring every dark inch of his surroundings. Jack's hand grew sweaty around the gun, and the loud staccato of her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

Suddenly, Riddick's head whipped around until his brilliant stare fell directly on her hiding place. Jack's eyes widened. She dropped to her hands and knees, holding her breath as she listened for any movement, any sign that he'd seen her. Apparently, he hadn't; she heard nothing. 

Jack endured the tense silence for almost an entire minute before she slowly raised herself up until her eye was just level with the crack. She peeked through it.

Riddick wasn't there.

Jack felt a cold feeling settle inside her. Slowly she turned. 

He was there, facing her, just a few paces away. He stood coiled and ready without being tense, eyes regarding her almost impassively. For a split second, Jack was paralyzed.

Then, too quickly, her gun hand moved, seemingly of its own accord, and leveled the weapon directly at him. Riddick saw the movement long before it happened. His own hand struck at hers in a blur, knocking the weapon away. Jack heard it skitter along the floor, disappearing into the shadows behind her. He shook his head slightly at her, as if disappointed, before he suddenly lunged at her. 

Jack didn't stand a chance. She cried out as she hit the floor, hard, his considerable weight temporarily knocking the air out of her lungs. Her hands flailed uselessly above her head. Instinctively, she tried to bring her knee up. He grunted when she missed her mark and instead hit the hard muscle of his abdomen, but didn't release her. A blur of motion caught her eye. She stiffened beneath him when she saw the shiv that seemed to materialize in his hand. 

"No!"

With a desperate burst of power that should be impossible for anyone her size, Jack heaved Riddick away from her. Her legs freed, she kicked wildly at his hand, stunning him enough that the shiv clattered to the floor. Desperately, she staggered to her feet and moved away from him, but a strong arm snaked around her waist and yanked her back. She heard an audible click and realized that he'd somehow retrieved the gun that she'd dropped in their scuffle.

Without thinking, Jack slammed her elbow into his stomach. His grip around her abruptly loosened and she squirmed away. In a fluid motion, she reached down to her ankle, unstrapped the handgun from her boot, and whirled around to face him, her white-knuckled fingers wrapped tightly around the weapon.

He was standing in front of her as before, a feral smirk on his face, her own gun in his hand and pointed directly at her. 

"Guess you know by now this ain't a social call," he said.

Jack's chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath. "Gonna kill me, Riddick?" she asked, glaring at him over the gun.

He shrugged and cast a glance down at the gun he was aiming at her. "That's the plan."

His nonchalance stung her, but she forced her hand not to waver. "Well, screw your plan," she spat. "I got a gun here that says it's not that easy." She tightened her grip on the handle as if trying to reassure herself of her own point.

"Is that right?" Riddick raised an eyebrow at her. "Then why haven't you used it?"

"Why haven't _you_?"

He opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it again. Dimly, she heard the approaching sound of voices just outside the room. _Reinforcements,_ she thought bitterly. _Come to back up Riddick in case he misses. Like that ever happens._

She felt cornered, but fatally rebellious. Her frazzled nerves were screaming at her to pull the trigger -- on him, on herself, on all of them. But she was caught by Riddick's sudden silence, by that small and unfamiliar something that was now flashing through his eyes.

"How much is your life worth to you, Jack?" he said finally.

"I should ask you the same thing. After all, you're getting paid to kill me." Her lips twisted into a near-snarl. "So _you_ tell _me_, Riddick -- how much is my _death_ worth nowadays, huh? How much is Gardeno paying you to be his lapdog?" 

Her hand shook slightly before she forced it to be still. Riddick noticed. "Just enough," he said flatly. 

The distant sound of someone calling his name caught their ears. A confusion of muffled footsteps rumbled through the stairwell. Riddick tore his eyes away from her to cast a quick glance at the empty doorway. After a moment, he looked back down at the guns they were both pointing at each other's faces. 

"Never thought it'd come to this, Jack," he said under his breath. 

The hate in her eyes made them shine almost as brightly as his. "The fuck you didn't," she said. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

"You," Riddick said, nodding at the gun she held in her trembling hand.

Jack swallowed. She was holding the gun with both hands now, trying to keep her aim steady. At Riddick's answer, her finger convulsively tensed on the trigger but didn't pull it. A clammy sheen of sweat formed on her forehead as she stared at him over the barrel of her gun.

She couldn't do it.

Her eyes met his. In that brief space of time, she felt distinctly like that young innocent she had been, once, to him.

The sudden cacophony of the soldiers' voices just outside shattered her thoughts. At the sound, her head whipped instinctively around toward the door. Riddick took advantage of her distraction by closing the distance between them. He ripped the gun away from her already-weakened grip and pinned her roughly against the wall. Jack winced as she felt the cold sting of the gun being pressed against her neck.

His face was just inches from hers. His breath skimmed over her clammy skin like a balm. She raised her eyes to his, entranced by the reflection of herself swimming amidst their bottomless gleam. He looked angry, tormented, and Jack was no longer sure if that trembling she was feeling throughout her body was from her or from Riddick.

"I didn't want to believe it," she heard herself whispering.

Somewhere outside the room, a world away from the two of them, a single, familiar voice carried faintly above the footsteps. "Riddick!" Landers called.

Jack smiled mirthlessly. "Cavalry's coming," she said. 

She felt him tense even more against her, the gun digging painfully into her flesh. Her expression turned sardonic. "Go ahead. Do your _job_."

Without releasing her, Riddick clenched his jaw and shut his eyes. His finger tensed on the trigger.

*****

Outside, in the stairwell, Landers's head snapped up as the sound of a single gunshot ripped through the air.


	4. Bargaining Chips

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer, rating, and summary.

A/N: Huge thanks to Ardath Rekha for the much-needed constructive crit., and all the kind folks at AoVD.

Chapter 4 - Bargaining Chips

The shot echoed through the stairwell, stunning Landers and his soldiers into silence. It rang through the cavernous space like a death knell before slowly melting away into nothingness. There was complete silence for about a full second.

Then Landers charged down the stairs, gun drawn, a dozen similarly armed men quickly following behind him.

He reached the basement well ahead of his troops. Without thinking, he stepped through the broken door.

Riddick was standing in the middle of the room, his back to the doorway, a gun in his hand. He didn't turn around at Landers's approach. 

"Riddick?" Landers said cautiously. His hand tightened around the gun as he surveyed the dark room. A thin shaft of light from a small, open window near the ceiling cut through the darkness. The room looked empty, but something about Riddick's stance made him uneasy. The muscles on his back were coiled and tense, and his fingers were clenched around the gun so fiercely that the veins on his arms bulged. 

Landers took a slow step toward him. "Riddick." 

"Missed her," he said, his voice low and flat. 

Landers frowned. "What?"

Riddick turned. His eyes were glowing with a strange expression that made their iridescence seem even more disconcerting than usual. He clenched his jaw as he looked at Landers. "I missed."

"You . . . ." Landers trailed off as his eyes widened in realization. His gaze immediately flew up to the open window, the only other possible escape route. He cursed inwardly.

__

At least it's almost dawn, Landers thought. _Should make it easier to find her_. 

But then, the same could have been said for Riddick, and she'd apparently managed to elude _that_ obstacle, as well.

Odd, that.

"She's good," Riddick said, as if he'd heard Landers's thoughts. "Fast. Surprised me."

Landers gave him a strange look. 

Riddick's eyes regarded him coolly, but there was an underlying guardedness in their expression that Landers hadn't seen there before. A strange thought slowly flickered in the back of his mind, gnawing at him, but he kept his expression inscrutable.

"Right," he merely said. 

A soldier appeared in the doorway. "Sir, your orders," he asked Landers.

Landers tore his eyes away from Riddick. "Outside," he said to the soldier. "She's on the run. All of you, split up and search the area. And keep an eye out for the other one."

"Yes, Sir."

The soldier left and Landers once again turned his careful scrutiny on Riddick. The other man narrowed his eyes. 

"Something you find interesting?" said Riddick. 

"Could be."

Riddick made a gruff sound in his throat. Wordlessly, he thrust the gun into Landers's hands, then stalked out of the room. Landers followed him to the stairwell. 

"Did you graze her, at least?" he said to Riddick's back. "Any chance she might've left a blood trail?"

"Guess you'll know when your men find one."

They entered the lobby, where about a dozen soldiers stood in uneasy silence, awaiting further orders. Riddick's expression darkened at the sight of them. Landers chose not to notice. "Anything?" he asked, addressing one of the men.

The soldier shook his head. "Charlie and his squad are out looking for her right now, Sir, but they've got nothing so far."

"I'm not surprised. She got a considerable head start." Landers gave Riddick a sideways glance. "Get Allen on the radio. Tell him to hold off sending the rest."

"Yes, Sir." 

Landers waved him away and faced Riddick. 

He was leaning against the wall, his massive arms folded across his chest in a deceptively casual pose. Though outwardly relaxed, his eyes glimmered in warning as he stared at Landers with cold reprobation. "Thought I told you I wouldn't need your backup." 

Landers raised his eyebrows. "Looks to me like you were wrong about that."

A muscle ticked on Riddick's jaw. He said nothing, settling only for a dark glare. There was an angry set to his face, an expression that was both troubled and dangerous. Landers wasn't sure, but he sensed that the expression wasn't directed specifically at him. He mentally filed that thought away to be examined later.

"Something tells me," he began, "that we won't be finding her today after all. What do you think?"

Riddick cocked his head. "I think that you don't sound too broken up about losing your target again."

"It happens. Granted, usually not this easily--" Landers shrugged, pretending not to notice the way Riddick's eyes narrowed, "--but it happens. Sometimes, this is the best we can hope for -- let her know that she still has our attention, keep her busy and on her toes. She'll show up again soon, like she always does. She's predictable that way." He pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "She might even show up sooner that usual." 

Riddick straightened slightly. "How's that?" 

As if on cue, a trio of soldiers entered the lobby, dragging a fourth man in handcuffs between them. The man's clothes were torn and bloodied in spots, and his left eye was so swollen that it was almost completely closed. The soldiers unceremoniously threw him at the floor in front of the two. The man grunted in pain and glared balefully up at Landers, who barely blinked.

"Lucas Hobbs," Landers said, looking down at the captive. 

The man narrowed his eyes, reared his head back, and spat on Landers's shoe. One of the soldiers immediately struck out, kicking him in the ribs. Lucas grunted at the blow and slumped to his side, breathing heavily. He squinted up at Landers with his good eye. "If it ain't the prodigal son," he rasped.

"Shut up," said one of the soldiers. He raised the butt of his gun and brought it down sharply on the back of Lucas's head. Lucas wavered on his knees and then crumpled to the floor in a heavy heap, his eyes closed but his breathing steady. 

Landers spared him a cursory glance before nodding at the soldiers. "Take him to the jail and keep him sedated. I want guards on him at all times." The men nodded, then roughly carried Lucas's prone body outside to a waiting vehicle. 

Riddick had watched the scene with an impassive silence. He tilted his head and looked at Landers, a question written across his face. 

"He was on a fire escape on the top floor," Landers said. "If he'd gotten away, I know he would've found some way to warn Jack and Barrows. It's a good thing all his equipment slowed him down. All of it stolen, too, I'll bet."

"Her scope-man," Riddick said, nodding a little. "She got friends in low places."

"He's one of her more troublesome ones." Landers shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Whether he knows it or not, we have the upper hand now. Catching him is almost as good as catching her." 

"He's good for information, you mean."

"Among other things, yes."

Riddick's doubt was evident on the small furrow on his forehead. "Doesn't look like the type to squeal."

"And we don't expect him to," Landers said. He tilted his head pointedly. "Methods of persuasion -- don't tell me you've never used them before." 

"I perfected the art. I'm just saying -- sometimes they fade on you before they can tell you what you want. And then you gotta have a backup plan."

"I do." 

"And?"

Landers took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the exit. Through the open door, they could see the soldiers shoving Lucas's heavyset body into the back of one of the sandcats. "I know that unless we beat it out of him, he won't divulge any information. Thing is, he won't have to. There's probably nothing that he can tell us that we don't already know, anyway. It's his relationship to Jack that matters.

"He's important to her. Or at least, _she_ seems to think so. When she finds out we have him, she'll come looking for him. And we'll be ready." 

"That simple, huh? Hang around, wait for the fish to bite, then reel her in." Riddick raised a brow, a twinge of mockery in his voice. "That's putting a lotta faith on the enemy, don't you think? What if she don't bite -- back to the drawing board?"

Landers looked at him with ice in his gaze. "You don't spend four years of your life chasing the same person without getting to know a few things about them. Take my word on this one." He leaned toward Riddick, a dark, knowing expression on his face. "Her weakness is that she cares too much. Jack's good at running, but she gets clumsy sometimes when she's not thinking of herself. She's predictable that way, too."

A frown flitted across Riddick's features, but it was gone before Landers could analyze what it meant. Riddick turned his gaze to the nearly empty street outside. The first streaks of dawn slashed through the sky like orange fire. The sandcat which held Lucas's unconscious body slowly rumbled to life. 

"You said that she won't leave this place," Riddick said abruptly. "You told me she was 'bound' here." He paused and fixed Landers with a searching gaze. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because she told me."

Then he turned and moved toward the door, leaving Riddick alone in the darkened lobby.

*****

From her place in the alley beside the far end of the apartment building, Jack looked at the crowd of men surrounding the truck at the front door. The soldiers were shoving Lucas into the tight space in the back of the sandcat. Their roughness and swagger reminded her of big-game hunters emerging triumphant from the wilds, their quarry's impotent carcass dragging behind them. Her hands balled into fists, but she kept still, careful to stay within the tall shadows still falling from the building.

They'd roughed him up good. Jack winced as she noted the blood on his shirt and the purpling bruises on his face and arms. Lucas was a big man; it took a lot to subdue him, much less knock him unconscious. Whatever it was that the soldiers had done to him, they'd done it well.

Jack pursed her lips grimly. _But not well enough that it killed him. Why would I risk my neck for a dead guy, after all? _

A worm on a hook -- that's all he was to them. In this battle, Lucas was the potential crack in her armor. Jack knew it, and not surprisingly, so did Landers. 

Jack shook off a troubling feeling that had abruptly settled in the pit of her stomach. Landers and Riddick, the tall, silent monuments to her demons. Somehow, she'd thought that she could outrun them both. It had worked with Landers so far, but Riddick was another thing altogether. His memory clung to her like a thorn just under her skin, bleeding her from the inside, and she knew that over the years she'd become dangerously accustomed to it. His appearance on what she considered _her_ turf only seemed like an affirmation of what she'd secretly feared. 

__

You can't let him go.

She frowned as the scene in the basement flashed through her memory with uncanny vividness. _Speaking of letting go . . . what the hell had **that** been about?_ He'd had her. She'd looked straight into those endless eyes and had read her death in them. Or at least she thought she did. 

A soft, sudden footstep behind her caused her to whirl around, her heart pounding. Instinctively, Jack grabbed the person by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the brick wall. Her eyes widened when she saw who it was.

"Nigel?"

"Jesus, Jack," Nigel hissed, raising his hands to ward her off. "Go easy on the cripple, all right?"

Jack blew out a tense breath and released him. "Sorry. You okay?"

Nigel rolled his eyes and brushed himself off. Jack noticed that his clothes and face were smudged with soot. "Define 'okay.' I just fell through a fuckin' laundry chute tryin' to escape a bunch of overgrown bulldogs with guns. And did I mention my ankle hurts like hell?"

"A laundry chute?"

Nigel bristled. "Long story. Anyway, I got out, didn't I?"

Jack bit her lip and drew him further into the shadows. She looked warily around the corner at the soldiers to see if they noticed their presence. Once satisfied, she settled her grave expression on Nigel. "They have Lucas." 

"I know," he said, his voice dropping to matching hers. "I heard a gunshot."

Jack shook her head. "No, I don't think they shot him. He looked like shit though. Unconscious. Best guess is they're gonna take him to the jail." 

Nigel frowned. "Coulda sworn I heard a gun."

Jack bit her lip. "That was Riddick. He and I had a little . . . confrontation."

"Rid--" Nigel's eyes widened. "Goggle guy from the paper? He shot at ya?"

"I, uh . . . I'm not sure." 

Nigel drew his eyebrows together in confusion. "Elaborate?"

"It was weird."

"Even better. That means I'll probably get it."

"Look, Nigel, _I_ don't know what happened and I was there. He just--" Jack paused, ran a hand through her hair, and took a deep breath.

She'd seen his finger close around the trigger. The next few seconds had condensed themselves into a small eternity in her mind; disbelief had paralyzed her, but her awareness of what might come had magnified every detail to monstrous proportions. She'd been acutely aware of her entrapment, of the cold wall behind her and of the warm, hard body that seemed to be crushing the breath out of her, so tightly had it been pressed against hers. His face had been clenched in concentration (_indecision?_), almost unrecognizable, and she couldn't bear to look at him. She'd slammed her eyes shut, unconsciously grinding her teeth together until her jaws ached. She'd waited for the big moment, waited for him to kill her, to _pull the damn trigger already_, all the while hoping to God that he wouldn't miss, or slip, or _something_, because otherwise it was gonna hurt like a son of a bitch . . . .

And suddenly, he'd pushed himself away from her. She'd slowly pried her eyes open, her skin chilled and prickling where his warmth had just been. He had stood just a few steps away from her, seemingly oblivious to the sound of approaching soldiers, his gun arm hanging limp at his side. The expression on his face had made the breath hitch in her throat. Even now, she couldn't find the words to describe what she'd seen in his eyes, what unexpected confusion, so alien on _his_ face, she'd seen twisting his features.

He'd stood there like a statue, breathing heavily, just staring at her. Then he'd said it, and she'd felt the rumble of his voice like thunder in her blood. "Jack."

There had been something odd in his inflection, as if even _he_ hadn't been sure if he was cursing her or warning her. She didn't stay long enough to ask. Her legs had suddenly come to life underneath her, and she'd bounded toward the window, scrambling over assorted boxes and trunks to vault herself through it. He did not try to chase her, and she didn't look back. It wasn't until she'd rolled herself onto the dusty sidewalk that she heard the gunshot from the basement.

Jack frowned at the memory. _What are you playing at, Riddick?_

She snapped back to the present as Nigel waved a hand in front of her eyes. "Hello in there?" he said, raising an eyebrow at her. "What happened to ya?"

"I -- I was just thinking," she said. "Lucas."

Nigel looked grim as he nodded, listening to the hum of the sandcat just around the corner. "Surprised they didn't do 'im the first chance they got."

"They're taking their time. They know I'll come for him."

Nigel's eyes snapped to her face. "And once ya do, they'll just kill ya both," he said sharply.

"You think I don't know that?" said Jack, frowning at him. "Look, what do you suggest? You want me to just leave him there?"

Nigel was silent for a moment. "You'd hate me forever if I said 'yes,' wouldn't ya?"

Jack narrowed her eyes. "Yes."

Suddenly, they heard the sandcat's engine roar to life. Jack tensed, then threw Nigel's arm around her shoulders and pulled him behind a large trash container a few yards away. Holding their breath, they crouched against the rusted metal while the sandcat rumbled past the alley. They waited until the sound receded into the distance. 

"There he goes." Nigel wavered on his good leg, sighing. "Well? How're we gonna do this?"

Jack looked critically at his foot. "We need to get that wrapped up." 

"And Lucas?"

"We'll get him back," she said simply. She wrapped her arm around his waist and helped him steady himself. 

"I'm not letting you just charge in there, ya know." Nigel fixed her with a firm glare. "You leave all that sacrificial lamb shit to the people who don't know no better."

Jack felt an unexpected anger rush over her. "Damn it, Nigel, I'm not a fucking robot! I don't know how you expect me to put aside my conscience just because I'm supposed to be this woman on a mission," she hissed, trying hard to keep her voice from rising. "I'm not, all right? I can't." 

"Jack, how much good do you think it's gonna do us if ya wind up dead? We almost got killed right now, and we weren't even on the offensive. Now you wanna run over to their watering hole an' expect to make it out alive? Look, I love the guy, but he ain't worth risking your life. An' if he was here, you know he'd tell you the same thing."

Jack turned her eyes away from him and pursed her lips in a tight line, as if trying to close off her face to avoid hearing his words. 

Nigel wouldn't have it. "Jack?" he said at her silence. "Look, I meant it."

"I know you did," she said quietly after a moment. "And I meant what I said earlier. We'll get him back."

"Shit, Jack, would you just think with your _head_ for once?" Frustrated, Nigel tried to push her away, but Jack held on to him, shaking her head adamantly. 

"Listen to me. I've got an idea, all right?" She lifted a finger, cutting off his protest. "It's damn risky, but if we do this right, they won't have a choice but to give him back. Just trust me." 

"You ain't been listenin' to a word I've said, have ya?"

"Nigel, please." The gravity in her eyes disarmed him. "This is Lucas, here." 

"This ain't about Lucas, an' you know it. It's about you." Nigel shook his head and sagged against her, resignation and weariness mixing on his pale features. He looked completely drained of energy as he stared at her. "Oh, hell. Wha'd you have in mind?" he finally said.

Relief swept over her face. Jack opened her mouth to reply but quickly closed it. She tilted her head to the side, brow furrowing as she heard several voices float toward them from the direction of the building's front entrance. A single pair of footsteps was slowly approaching.

"Later," Jack whispered. Without waiting for his reply, she pulled him along the narrow path, their fleeing silhouettes cutting slender and black against the foggy light coming from the other end of the alley. By the time the soldier reached the mouth of the alley, Jack and Nigel had disappeared.

The soldier gave the alley a brief scan before calling to someone over his shoulder. "Nothin' here either." 

A moment later, a second soldier appeared beside him. "Didn't expect there to be. Least we got one of 'em, huh?"

"Not the one Landers wants, though." 

The other gave a snort. "Yeah, he _wants_ her, all right." Shaking his head, he shifted his gun to his other shoulder and nudged the other man. "C'mon. We ain't findin' her here."

Shrugging simultaneously, the men moved away.


End file.
